


A Splinter in Time

by MargosLxix



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A satirical love letter to AUs and fanfiction in general, I don't know if it qualifies as meta fiction but IDK how else to describe it, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargosLxix/pseuds/MargosLxix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Listen: Caliborn has come unstuck in Paradox Space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time May Give You More Than Your Poor Bones Could Ever Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's all my fault that any of this is even happening in the first place. Mea Culpa. But I can fix it."

Caliborn Umbra was absolutely certain of two things. First, that his twin sister was a fucking idiot. Second, that there weren't terribly many things in the world more obnoxious than hipsters.

Why he'd accepted Calliope's request to help her move into her dorm room, he'd never know. For one thing, he was positive that college was just a waste of time, and art school even more so. If Callie were truly a great artist, she would have been self-taught, and not so insistent about spending time and money on a formal education. For another thing, he hated her. He hated her with every fiber of his being. Sure, it wasn't like anyone else was exactly rushing to help her. Even mom bailed on that one (big surprise). But he convinced himself that he wasn't trying to be a good brother (perish the thought!) and there was no way in hell he felt sorry for her (her misery always had a way of sustaining him). Obviously, the only possibility left was that he just wanted to get rid of her. If she was all cozy and comfy in her pretentious little college, then she wouldn't be at home hogging the sofa, or eating all of the good snacks, or insisting on making her brother proofread her gross fanfictions.

Of course it couldn't be that simple, though. As sure and as predictable as clockwork, Callie managed to find something to bitch about. "No, Caliborn!" she'd scolded, in her stupid, obnoxious voice, "Clothes absolutely do not go in the desk drawer! They belong in the closet! Please help me hang them up, it really isn't terribly difficult!" Of course, he apparently couldn't even do that right. "That's a sweater, brother dear! It'll get all out of sorts if you don't put it on a padded hanger, it needs to go on a _padded_ hanger!"

It was inevitable that he would storm out eventually. It was only a matter of time. Honestly, it was a miracle that it took 35 whole minutes. He never could have imagined that he'd last that long. It just went to show just how long you could persevere, even under impossible circumstances, if you just stayed determined.

Anyway, he had no idea where the fuck he was, and the city was completely unfamiliar to him. It didn't take long for him to end up here, which was where the hipsters came in.

He guessed that the coffee shop was supposed to be "trendy" or something, but it just looked like shit to him. Hell, he didn't even like coffee. It smelled amazing, which is probably why he bothered coming in in the first place, but it always tasted like liquid disappointment. Inside, though, it really didn't smell that good. It mostly smelled like people wearing too much cologne or perfume or _something_ , and it made the inside of his nose burn. Maybe it was just the bitch in the wool parka (in the fucking summertime) with the dreadlocks sitting by the window, typing away at something that looked vaguely like poetry on her Apple laptop (because of-fucking-course it was). 

Yep, this was definitely Calliope's sort of place. She'd probably bond with all of the other pretentious assholes at her shitty school, and they'd come here and talk about their feelings, and write shitty poetry, and then go home and throw paint at canvases while crying. At least, that's how Caliborn imagined it.

He tugged on a suspender strap, fidgeting uncomfortably as he slowly walked closer to the counter. He hadn't really planned on buying anything, but his eyes scanned over the dessert case. Okay, maybe that was the one saving grace of this miserable hole-in-the-wall. They had some really precious-looking little cherry tarts with a little bit of whipped cream, and he absolutely couldn't resist. There weren't many things better than a super-cute dessert, especially when it was full of cherries.

He squinted his eyes at the overhead menu as he leaned forward onto the counter, tapping his fingertips against the rough wood of the countertop. He didn't like the texture. It was too rough and uneven. Why couldn't it be marble, or at least some kind of smooth stone? If it had to be wood, couldn't it at least be smooth and polished? Some asshole could get a splinter on this damn thing if they weren't careful. Of course, Caliborn was an expert at tapping very carefully on shitty surfaces, so he knew that he was in no danger.

Oh, right, he'd almost forgotten the menu.

By the time he'd decided on a coffee that sounded at least bearable to go with his tarts, an employee had quickly, silently slid into place, ready to take his order.

He slid his gaze down from the menu, his brows furrowed and tense as he eyed the barista. He was tall, at least seven or eight inches taller than Caliborn, with hair that stuck up in wild, stubborn cowlicks all over his head. Did hipsters just not brush their hair, or was that some kind of carefully-crafted affectation? Caliborn couldn't even tell, and he wasn't sure which was worse. No, that wasn't true. It was the latter. Definitely. The weirdest part, though, was what the young man was wearing on his face. A pair of thick, plastic sunglasses, far too dark to see through, and pointed like some kind of ridiculous cartoon character's shades. Caliborn blinked, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't care how thirsty you are, I'm not on the menu."

Caliborn was almost startled when the guy spoke, his cheeks turning pink at the implication. Wait, was he serious? Caliborn was terrible at reading people, but there was a little smirk on the barista's face. So, more than likely, it was some kind of joke. It was probably supposed to be cute or flirty or something. And really, it wasn't like this guy wasn't attractive, but... Wait, shit, he really was getting distracted. Goddammit.

"I didn't fucking ask. If you were or not," Caliborn grumbled under his breath, pulling his lip back to bare his large, somewhat disaligned teeth. It made him look at least a little bit intimidating, which was a definite plus for a short, scrawny, pale guy like him. "In fact. It is rude to assume. That I was fucking going to. You are shitty at customer service. And probably should be fired."

"Hey, no arguements here," replied the barista, putting up his hands. "Do you think I like making coffee for randos who come from some kind of never-satisfied dimension? Seriously, it's basically the worst. If I don't get fired within the next month or two, I'll honestly start to pray to whatever bitterness gods might be listening and see if I can't get one of them to smite me with a lightning bolt where I stand." The entire speech just rolled off of his tongue, as if he'd rehearsed it a thousand times. It was surreal, and if it had been delivered in any other way, it would have been annoying, but there was something undeniably smooth about the way this guy operated. Still, without missing a beat, as if he'd said absolutely nothing, he leaned forward slightly, one blond eyebrow emerging from behind the shades. "Now, can I get you anything, or are you just going to stand there checking me out?"

Caliborn opened his mouth a few times, flustered, his hands immediately seeking out his suspender straps. He'd had an entire order prepared, and he'd managed to forget it completely. Shit, he hated ordering food under the best of circumstances. When faced with some food service employee who would so casually discuss his deep, burning hatred for his job, as if he feared absolutely no repurcussions, it suddenly got even more difficult.

"What, speechless?"

"No. Shut up." Okay, so he'd managed to get his words back. That was a start. "I demand from you--"

"Oh ho!"

"I said shut up! I demand. A very large mocha. With as much milk and sugar as you can fit in there. With also a shot of cherry. And a fuck-ton of whipped cream. And four of those cherry tarts. In the case."

The man just watched him for a long moment after he ordered, that cocky smirk vanishing from his face, leaving it as neutral of a poker face as Caliborn had ever seen. "That's gonna be really sweet. Too sweet. You might even get sick."

"No I won't. I am a man. Who can hold his sugar," Caliborn snapped back. "Mind your own fucking business. And just make the goddamn coffee."

"But it's barely coffee. You may as well be drinking chocolate milk. Or I guess chocolate-cherry milk. Is that even a thing? You know, I don't think it's an actual thing."

"No. Unfortunately. But it fucking should be."

"I don't know, dude. It sounds pretty terrible to me."

Caliborn tugged hard at his suspender strap, furrowing his brows even harder. "Well. I didn't fucking ask you! Are you going to make my fucking coffee. Or do I need to throw a fucking tantrum. In the middle of this goddamn shit hole. And summon your manager?"

"Oh no," said the barista, in the most bored, apathetic voice imaginable. "I don't think my poor li'l heart could survive you calling my manager. Whatever shall I do?"

"Stop being fucking sarcastic. And just make the coffee."

"I can't stop," said the barista with a shrug as he pressed a few buttons on his cash register, "It's in my nature. Seagulls have to fly, horses have to gallop majestically, and I have to be a snarky asshole. Anyway, that'll be $23.47." He smirked before adding, "Plus tip."

Caliborn's eyes widened. "That's almost 25 fucking dollars!"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. You're the one who ordered four tarts and a large coffee with all of the bells and whistles."

"And on top of that. You expect a goddamn tip. After offering such shitty service. And insulting my personal coffee preferences?"

"Dude, I make less than minimum wage. Think of the children."

"Children?" Wait, the guy looked like he was probably around Caliborn's age. He couldn't have been older than 20. 21, tops.

The barista started counting off on his fingers, "Sawtooth, Squarewave, Hal, Minihoof." He pronounced each name as if he expected it to mean something, despite the fact that it all sounded like gibberish to Caliborn. "Li'l Cal." He gave that one special weight, saying it slowly. It sounded like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare, and it really made the hairs on the back of Caliborn's neck stand up. Still, he shook off the feeling, trying to continue the conversation. He couldn't let that name hang in the air. It felt like really, really bad luck.

"You expect me to believe. That you have five fucking children?"

"Well, two robots, a tiny horse, a pair of glasses, and a puppet. Close enough. Although ectobiology is pretty fucking weird, so I guess I actually do have children? I've learned to just roll with it, if I'm being honest."

"What the fuck. Are you even talking about?" Caliborn tugged on his suspenders so hard that the friction burned his palms a little bit. This guy was starting to make him just a little bit uneasy.

The barista paused for a long moment. If Caliborn didn't know any better, he would have said that the other man looked just a little bit disappointed, as if he'd expected a different response. "Nothing. Anyway, are you going to pay me so I can make your hot cup of diabetes?"

Caliborn grumbled as he pulled out his debit card, which the other guy scanned with a phone attachment.

"I'll call you when it's ready," he said simply, his face as emotive as stone.

Caliborn rolled his eyes. Fuck, right, it was one of these places. Just because this shitty coffee shop wasn't exactly Starbucks, it didn't mean that they weren't going to do the stupid name thing. Of course, this guy had been so distracted by whatever nonsense he'd been spouting that he didn't even bother to ask Caliborn's name.

"What the fuck. Will you call me?" he asked. Now it was Caliborn's turn to smirk. He'd already established that this guy was shit at his job, but being able to call him out for a specific mistake was oddly satisfying. Maybe he could finally take this conversation back, instead of letting this creep dominate it.

"I'll just call you you," said the man. Caliborn furrowed his brows. Did he even hear that right? He couldn't have literally said the letter "u." That made no goddamn sense. Was he just going to shout "hey you," across the shitty coffee shop? He wouldn't have been surprised.

"My name is Caliborn," he said, as if it were almost a threat. He'd make sure that this guy at least had the respect to remember his name, even if he couldn't be asked to stop being creepy and saying weird shit.

Of course, Caliborn should have been expecting the barista's response to be just as strange and inexplicable as basically everything else he'd been doing this entire time. "Caliborn," he repeated, in a very soft voice. It was as if someone had told him a secret that he'd always been dying to know, like an alchemist who'd finally figured out the formula for the philosopher's stone. "Damn."

"Hey. Shut up! My name is weird. But it is also. Really fucking cool. So if you are planning. To make some stupid pun. About how I am probably from 'Calibornia.' Or some bullshit like that. Then you need to shut the stupid hole in your goddamn face. I have heard all of them already. And I hate them."

"I wasn't planning on it," responded the barista, who quickly turned away from him and started making his drink.

Caliborn watched him for a moment, his shoulderblades moving under his t-shirt, before turning to sit down at a small, nearby table. He tried to concentrate on something, anything other than whatever the fuck that conversation had been, but he couldn't. The fight with his sister was almost completely forgotten, his thoughts were dominated by the creepy, attractive barista. Why did he have to be such an unsettling cominbation of things? Why did he have to be so compelling, so unnerving, so infuriating? There was something about his face that felt like having a word on the tip of his tongue, the sensation of feeling so close but being so far, far away that he couldn't help but feel like a fucking idiot. 

Of course, it wasn't long before he glanced back over out of the corner of his eye, noticing the barista carefully pick his tarts out of the dessert case with a massive set of tongs. He stood and headed to the pick-up counter before the barista even had time to call his name, and picked up his cup and his plate of tarts without once making eye contact with the other man's impenetrable shades.

He wondered if this was like Starbucks, where those idiots went out of their way to misspell people's names on their cups. He couldn't help but be morbidly curious, and the moment he sat down, after take a large bite from one of his delicious tarts, he started slowly rotating his cup.

His heart nearly skipped a beat before falling into the pit of his stomach.

Right there, in black sharpie, spelled absolutely correctly, were two words written as one. Neither one was his name. To his shock and horror, in neat, bold handwriting, his cup bore the phrase "undyingUmbrage."

He slammed his cup down on the table, the coffee protected from spilling by the plastic lid, a few unchewed cherries still in his cheek as he marched up to the counter, glaring at the barista.

Without so much as waiting for him to ask what seemed to be the trouble, Caliborn practically growled. "Alright. Talk. How the fuck. Do you know my Skype account?"

"Skype? You mean Pesterchum, right?"

"What the fuck is Pesterchum?"

The barista ran his hand back through his hair, and it seemed to become even more weirdly vertical the more he did it. "Come on, seriously?"

"Are you fucking stalking me?"

"No," the barista responded quickly, defensively, glancing around to make sure that the other coffee shop patrons were too busy with writing their novels or whatever the fuck they were doing to notice the confrontation at the counter. "Look, this whole thing is actually really complicated, and I've probably already managed to make a mess of everything. I thought I could handle this no problem, but I guess I was wrong. Just give me one chance here, alright? And then I'll let you go, and you can drink your cup of sugar and eat your fruity li'l cakes, okay?"

"Stop making fun of my fucking order. And I will consider it," he grumbled, crossing his arms and trying to look fierce.

The barista paused for a moment, as if biting back some incredibly snarky comment, before nodding. "Alright, granted. But I should have at least introduced myself, and told you that my name is Dirk Strider."

Caliborn paused for a moment. Was that seriously it? His entire explanation. "Why the fuck should I care. About your stupid goddamn name?"

"Dirk Strider? Dirk... Human Strider? The Dirk Human?"

Caliborn just stared at him as if he'd grown a third eye between the triangular lenses of his cartoon shades. "That's it. We're done here. Get me a fucking to-go bag. I'm not staying in this fucking establishment another second. You can fuck right off."

Dirk handed him an empty bag, looking just a little defeated. "You have to remember."

Caliborn flipped him off, heading back to his table and jamming three of the tarts into the bag (and the rest of the fourth in his mouth), picking up his coffee and storming out of the shop, heading back in the direction of Calliope's shitty art school.

The worst part was, there was something familiar about Dirk. Had they gone to the same elementary school or something? Maybe he'd just seen someone who looked exactly like him in a dream.

Whatever. It was unimportant. He'd go through his Skype contacts that night, block anyone who shouldn't have been there, and try to forget all of this.

No. On second thought, maybe he _would_ remember. He didn't know why. But maybe it was pre-important for later, somehow. 

Either way, he was never going to that coffee shop again.


	2. Fast Times at Skaia High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alright, so maybe this isn't going to be as easy as I thought. I just need to get him to talk to me. Skaia High, huh? I can't say as I'm exactly prepared for this particular cliché, but I don't have to stay long. Just... get in, jog his memory, and get the fuck out of Dodge."

Was there anything more depressing than the first day of school?

Absolutely. Without a doubt. No question about it.

The second day of school. 

The first day was always hell. You had to get up early, you had to get to school, you had to meet all of your teachers and get all of your heavy, boring textbooks out of the library. After an entire summer of eating Lucky Charms at noon and rare, deliciously-bloody cheeseburgers at midnight, you had your first cardboard-flavored school lunch in months. You had to get used to the piercing sound of the bell, the electric hum of flourescent lights, the constant echoing of overly-loud teenagers against the metal lockers in the hallway.

But the second day, everything was worse. Everything was the same, and that made it worse. The second day set the pattern. The second day was your reminder that you did, in fact, have to return to that hell for months and months and months before your next summer rolled around.

Nobody knew that better than Caliborn English.

His sister walked quickly ahead of him on their way to school, her thick, bleached-white curls bobbing up and down, a lime-green bow tucked into the side of her hair like an egg in a nest. She was excited to return to all of her classes, for the lessons to start properly. She wouldn't stop talking about how exciting biology was going to be ("even more fascinating than Earth sciences was last year, can you even imagine?"), especially since her assigned seat was right next to her best friend ("she's just so impossibly lovely," Calliope always said with one of those disgusting, lovesick little sighs).

He followed her, his nearly-empty backpack half-hitched on his shoulder. He left most of his books at home. Why the hell should he even pretend to care? He was just going to sleep through his classes, scrape by with a D- in just about everything by making Calliope do at least a quarter of his homework, and pad out his GPA by acing all of the history pop quizzes (memorizing dates was child's play).

Of course, it was just Caliborn's luck that on today of all days, on the worst day of the year, he would hear the rush of footsteps behind him as they ascended the concrete stairs in front of their school. He barely managed to move out of the way as the "impossibly lovely" Lalonde bitch (gag) ran towards them, nearly knocking him over as she swept behind Calliope, putting her hands over her eyes. "Hey, guess who?" she said quickly, in a sing-song voice.

"Ah! Roxy!"

"Guessed it in one, Callie!"

Both girls squealed in that awful, high-pitched way of theirs, and Caliborn just rolled his eyes, honestly glad that Roxy had learned to treat him as more-or-less invisible over the years.

"Aren't you just absolutely thrilled about biology this year, love? Mr. Nitram seems as though he's reasonably knowledgeable about the subject. Perhaps we're actually going to go fairly in-depth this year! Wouldn't that be fascinating?"

"Yeah, totes, but like, also? You know the transfer student? The one who sits right in front of you?"

Calliope just blinked, and Caliborn could tell that Calliope had been paying way too much attention to Roxy to actually bother noticing anyone else, transfer student or otherwise. "No, I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure who you mean!"

"Okay, well like, he's really extremely hot. Like, super hot, Callie. What I am trying to say is that if you took the surface of the sun, at like, 5,778 Kelvin or something, and compressed all of the mass of that big old star into the body of one guy, like, that would be maybe... 10% of how hot this guy is. 12% tops, T. B. H. And he's probably used to temperatures like that, since he's from Texas, and it's, like, super hot there. Or well, I guess that's kind of a hyperbole? But like, whatevs."

Calliope laughed nervously, tapping the bow in her hair. Caliborn smirked at that. As bad as he was at reading most people, Calliope was an open book to him. He could practically hear his twin's heart breaking. It was a beautiful sound. Maybe that would teach her to be a fucking coward and not just confess her stupid crush already.

"He certainly sounds interesting, love! You should definitely introduce me to him. It must be rather lonely, not to know anyone at a completely new school. Perhaps a large number of caring, platonic relationships would really aid in his adjustment process. Wouldn't you agree?"

Roxy laughed and nudged Calliope suggestively, before grabbing her hand and leading her off somewhere, in almost the exact opposite direction of her locker. They were probably heading to the bathroom to gossip, or maybe going to look for Crocker to add her to this completely pointless conversation (not that it would be hard to find her, since she took up half a hallway by herself).

Either way, he found himself alone on his way to his locker. It was a miracle. No one bothered him, either. Even that creep Makara was nowhere in sight (probably too high to come to school or something, and good riddance). Other than him, pretty much everyone knew to leave Caliborn alone. He had a legendarily short fuse, and a temper that resulted in more than its fair share of thrown desks. Of course, maybe he'd be extremely lucky and some poor bastard would fuck with him bad enough that he'd have to break their face. He'd get suspended (again), which meant at least a week or two of sitting at home, doing nothing. The only downside was Calliope scolding him the instant she got home, telling him that he really needed to talk to a guidance counselor or seek professional help or _something_. She still didn't get it. That shit wasn't _for_ him. The school faculty were all just convinced that he was a thug, and that he'd come to a bad end. As far as he knew, they were right. Anyway, believing that was better than agreeing with Calliope. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

As he reached his locker, he heard voices echoing against the metal around the corner. At least they were something to focus on, instead of the constant drone of meaningless noise that most of the voices had faded into.

"Are you really sure you want to go that way? Your homeroom is on the other side of the school!" That was Crocker. So she wasn't somewhere waiting for Callie and Roxy. If she came this way, Caliborn would have to remember to snap a rubber band at her. That could be fun.

"Yeah, trust me on this." Caliborn had never heard that voice before, but he had a feeling that too much of that Southern twang could get on his nerves. Of course, everything sort of did, so there wasn't anything new there. "Thanks for showing me around, Jane. You're the best, seriously, and I want you to know that. But I'll take it from here."

"Well, shucks buster, Mr. Strider! Either you are massively exaggerating or you warm up to people quicker than anyone I've ever met."

"Perceptive as always, Ms. Crocker. I'll see you in forensics, alright?"

"That certainly sounds like a plan to me!"

Caliborn opened his locker, blocking his view of the hallway that the voices were coming from, as he stashed a bag of lollipops from his backpack inside. It was always helpful to keep a stash on him, but it was also good to keep a big supply. It was a much more useful thing to have in his locker than notebooks, at least. Besides, stopping at his locker gave him time to stall before homeroom, since he infinitely preferred wandering around the school and stretching his legs to staying parked in a shitty little chair all day.

When he slammed his locker shut, there was someone else standing there, and Caliborn was so badly startled that he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It must have been the guy who was talking, the guy that Jane had called "Mr. Strider." He was about average height, maybe three inches taller than Caliborn, with a lean, muscular build. From his voice, Caliborn was guessing that this was the also the guy that Roxy had been talking about, and as much as he hated to admit that one of his sister's stupid friends could ever be right about something, the guy was undeniably hot. Sure, the hair gel was kind of terrible (even though it smelled nice), and the anime shades were really, unbelievably lame, but still.

Of course, there was also something deeply, viscerally off-putting here. Why the fuck was this white Southern guy, bigger than him (although not necessarily as tough, Caliborn thought with some comfort), who was apparently friends with one of his worst enemies, standing right next to his locker?

Caliborn took a step back, trying to recompose himself and trying not to look like such a big coward after nearly being startled to death. "Who the fuck are you. And what the hell do you want?"

Strider looked as though he was about to say something, but he quickly closed his mouth again, as if deciding that what he was going to say wasn't the best idea after all. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

"No. Your homeroom. Is in the complete opposite fucking direction!"

Strider paused for a moment, leaning with his hip against the adjacent locker and crossing his arms over his chest. "How did you know that? Have you been watching me?"

"No. I just heard that fat bitch Crocker. Say the same fucking thing."

The other boy held up a finger, not threateningly, but enough to look like somewhat of a warning. "Look, I can tolerate a lot of the crap that comes out of your mouth, and I'm not telling you how to live your life. But I'd really appreciate it if you were just a little nicer to Jane, alright? She is wonderful, and she does not deserve that shit from you or anyone."

Caliborn scoffed at that. "I have known that bitch. For like ten years. Because she is one my idiot sister's best friends. And you just met her probably yesterday. So I think that I would know. Better than you. If she is 'wonderful.' And the answer is no. She is fucking not. She is terrible. She is just pretending herself to be good. So that you will be friends with her. Which is a stupid choice."

Strider furrowed his brows and opened his mouth as if about to argue or contradict the point, before closing it uselessly. "Fair enough," he grumbled. "I guess I can't argue with that. Technically speaking."

"Were you fucking looking for me?" Caliborn asked, furrowing his brows.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Strider hesitated for a moment before saying, "You're Caliborn. I mean, I've heard. I just started school yesterday, since I'm a transfer student and all. I just figured that, you know, because all of my new friends seem to know you, we should probably..." He trailed off, as if completely aware of how stupid the shit he was saying was. "Be friends?" he finished, sighing like the reluctant teller of a terrible, terrible secondhand joke.

"Friends?" Caliborn scoffed. "You're fucking joking. I don't do 'friendship.' Asshole."

"Acquaintances, then."

Caliborn furrowed his brow. "Who the fuck are your new friends?"

"Oh, you know. Jane. Roxy."

"Roxy doesn't fucking know you. I heard her talking about you. To my idiot sister earlier. And they think that you have no friends. Because you are new."

"Well, fuck," mumbled Strider under his breath. He paused awkwardly, before adding "Jake?" in a way that seemed to suggest that it was a statement, not a question, but one that he wasn't as sure of as he would have liked to be. 

Caliborn stared at him, hard, completely incredulous at what he was hearing. "My idiot cousin? Are you fucking serious?"

Dirk raised a single brow at that, before returning to a poker face. "He's your cousin?"

"Yeah. I fucking hate him. And the feeling is mutual."

"Wait, how is he your cousin? I'm really confused, that... honestly makes no sense."

"My father. And his father. Are brothers. That is how being cousins fucking works. Dumbass."

"But why the fuck is he--" he cut himself off, shaking his head. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sorry I asked. Let's just add that one to the ever-growing list of nonsense in the endless clusterfuck of complicated genetic and consequential relationships that basically defines our entire existences at this point."

Caliborn was completely silent for a long moment, trying to parse exactly what the other boy just said. "What?"

"Nothing. Look, all I'm saying is, from the things that I've heard, which were admittedly pretty vague and honestly mostly negative, you're a pretty fascinating guy. I know that a lot of people don't get that, and I also get why. But I am not a lot of people, and I think that we should go out sometime. Maybe get some coffee. Just to talk."

Caliborn gripped his suspender straps tightly, glancing at the clock above the computer lab door. He still had five minutes until homeroom, so he couldn't exactly use that as an excuse to get out of this ludicrous situation. "Strider. Are you seriously. Asking me the fuck out?"

"How do you know my name?" he asked quickly, his poker face never wavering, but his body language suddenly considerably more open than it had been.

"I heard Crocker say it," said Caliborn with a shrug. "Don't fucking flatter yourself. To think that I give enough of a shit about you. To actually ask someone. About your goddamn name."

Strider frowned for just a moment, as if he'd given the wrong answer. "You know, this isn't an anime, Caliborn. You don't have to stand on formality. You can call me Dirk if you want."

Dirk Strider, huh? Caliborn furrowed his brows slightly. "How the fuck would I have called you that. If I didn't know your fucking name?"

Dirk shrugged. "I was serious, by the way. We should go get some coffee. Maybe after school?"

"I fucking hate coffee." It was easier, he decided, to just skip to the least stupid thing about this asshole's proposition. For one thing, he barely knew him. For another, why the fuck was he asking _him_ out? No one ever asked Caliborn out. No one was ever interested in him, but then, he was never really interested in anyone else, either. This guy, though...

Dammit, no, he wasn't going to entertain that thought.

"Really? All coffee?" Dirk's poker face twitched into a smirk for a moment, as he closed off his body language again, leaning against the locker. "What if I offered you a large mocha with a lot of milk, enough sugar to rot your teeth, some whipped cream, and a shot of cherry?"

Caliborn's eyes widened. That sounded fucking delicious. It sounded sweet enough to counteract the bitterness of coffee. It sounded like the tapping of fingers against a rough, wooden counter, and the clacking of laptop keyboards as some hipster pieces of shit composed poetry in a crappy coffee shop.

What the fuck?

Caliborn furrowed his brows, baring his teeth. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and was extremely, extremely glad that this asshole probably wouldn't be able to tell that he was blushing. "Strider. What the fuck. Is your game?"

Dirk sighed. "Come on, don't freak out again. You're giving me déjà vu."

"I have never fucking seen you before. In my entire life! Stop talking to me. Like you know the first goddamn thing about me!" He slipped his hands off of his suspender straps, still balled into fists. Dirk took a step back, as if prepared to flee at a moment's notice.

"Caliborn, you have to remember!"

"I don't! I don't have to do shit!"

Dirk shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You're right. You don't. You just go to class, do whatever the hell people do in high school." He turned on his heel and headed past Caliborn, towards the lobby.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Caliborn called after him. It wasn't like he cared. He didn't. He was sure that he didn't. He was just curious, as stupid as it was.

"To whatever passes for 'home' here. Classes aren't my problem, and maybe I'll run into whatever fucked-up version of my bro lives there, and..." He stopped walking, turning around to face Caliborn again. "Look, just forget it. Ha, what am I saying? Of course you will. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Caliborn didn't stop him the next time he turned to leave. 

He was quiet the entire rest of the day, and he had to admit, it sort of flew by. It had been an interesting second day of school, at least. Either way, he didn't see Dirk again. Maybe that was for the best. Tomorrow would come, and he had a feeling that it would all seem like a bad dream, especially if he could just manage to avoid Dirk. Sure, that meant no super-sweet cherry coffee, and no date (not that he was still thinking about the date, or anything), but he could live with that. He always had before.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow had in store. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to avoid Dirk, especially if he was intent on seeing him again. How exactly that would play out was anyone's guess, but the fact that Caliborn hadn't actually taken a swing at Dirk, even when he wouldn't stop spouting bullshit, sort of irked him.

Something stayed his hand. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what.


	3. Dragon's Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm being too forward, I've gotta do this on his terms. He's always been stubborn. I should have known he wouldn't listen to me unless he thought it was his idea. Now, what sort of--oh. Oh, yes. Hell yes. Hell fucking yes."

On the edge of the Eternal Forest towered the Forbidden Mountains, and the eleventh mountain in that range was the Mountain of Souls. At the base of the mountain, there was a massive hole in the earth, where legend said could be found all manner of beautiful, sparkling treasures. No Dwarven miner would dare tread upon such sacred ground, however. Any who were foolish enough to do so never returned, as if the earth itself had swallowed them whole.

It wasn't the earth that devoured them, though, but a dragon.

Tonight, the dragon dozed, slumbering peacefully on his massive hoard of treasure. Some had simply fallen into his cave, and some he'd plundered for himself from far-flung villages over the centuries. No villagers who saw him ever lived to tell the tale, so no one knew that the dragon made his home at the base of the mountain. He lived like a king (although one without a kingdom), feasting on any poor animal that came his way, adding their bones to his great store of wealth. With his breath, he lit torches, the fire casting strange shadows on the wall, the rubies and gold ore that lined the cave glittering in the light.

He stretched lazily, scratching his deep green scales with the jagged edges of legendary swords that lined his favorite treasure piles, tossing his black-feathered mane as he cracked the joints in his massive neck. His crimson eyes were half-lidded as he idly turned toward the entrance to his cave. No intelligent creature had wandered in for at least 60 years, and honestly, it was starting to get just a little dull.

Simply put, Caliborn (for that was the dragon's name) was bored. 

If you implied that he was lonely, he would have simply scoffed before setting you aflame with his breath. That simply wasn't an emotion that dragons had, and that was one thing that he was sure of. Dragons, though at least as intelligent as humans, were as asocial as they came. Few ever took mates, and even fewer laid more than one egg at a time. Caliborn was one of the rare few who'd had a nest mate, but she had gone her own way long, long ago, and Caliborn hadn't heard anything from her since. He liked to think that she was dead. Sometimes, though, he imagined that she'd found some pathetic tribe of humans, tried to befriend them, and ended up as the central goddess of some sort of dragon cult. Someday, when he wasn't so consumed by the ennui of being an unknown and unknowable force of nature, he imagined himself seeking out this cult, deposing his hated nest mate, and becoming a god himself. But that was all just a figment of his imagination, and probably not at all what had happened. No, it was far more likely that she was dead, and good riddance to bad rubbish.

There was something alluring, though, about the lives of inferior creatures. It wasn't that he liked them, or even envied them. He despised all of them, and wanted to see every last one of them suffer. Still, he imagined it was at least an interesting existence. Maybe it wasn't so dreadfully, dreadfully dull.

He considered settling down for another month-long nap, when he suddenly imagined that he heard hoofbeats. It was funny, how boredom made his mind play tricks on him.

No, that was not his imagination. Those were real, honest to goodness hoofbeats.

He stepped down from his pile of gold, spreading his wings and fluffing up his mane, preparing to fight off some attacker. Knights on horseback were a very, very rare sight, but he was determined to protect his hoard.

A figure descended the slope into Caliborn's massive treasure chamber, its shadow thrown onto the wall before it came clearly into view among the torches. To Caliborn's surprise, though, it wasn't a man on horseback at all, but a centaur.

He came into the cave, his eyes widening for just a moment when he saw the massive dragon before pulling his face into a completely neutral expression, standing stock-still across the cavern from him. Caliborn took a moment to take in his appearance. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with beautiful, shining chestnut fur that matched his skin. His hair was a perfect horse's mane of palomino white. Still, the most remarkable thing about him were his eyes. They were a deep, almost glowing gold, and they ignited the dragon's urge to own all things beautiful and shining. They matched so many of the treasures in his hoard, and Caliborn found himself staring for far, far longer than he intended to. The centaur's musculature ensured that he would have been an excellent meal, but he was far, far too beautiful to cook and devour.

"Who are you? Who dares disturb my peace?" growled the dragon, his voice gravelly and thick from disuse, the words coming out slowly and painfully.

The gorgeous centaur hesitated for just a moment before boldly stepping forward, his hooves clattering against the stone floor of the cave. "It is I," he announced proudly, "Dirk Strider, Prince of the kingdom of Equestria." The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if it was something that he'd always wanted to say.

Caliborn tilted his head to the side in thought. Had the centaurs organized into a formal kingdom? It wasn't that he really cared what they did, but it was certainly interesting. "So. Is this. A diplomatic visit?"

"Not really."

Caliborn waited for the prince to explain himself, but no explanation came. "To what do I owe the displeasure. Of having my pleasant napping times interrupted. By some asshole horse man?" he demanded, hoping that he'd at least get something of an explanation.

The centaur pawed at the ground with a hoof, his eyes flicking downwards as he thought. "Nothing. I was bored. There was a hole. I wondered what was in it. Now I'm here." He shrugged, slidding his hands down the side of his torso and onto his horse-shoulders, as if expecting to find something there. He awkwardly tapped his furry body for a moment, before folding his hands behind his back, instead.

Caliborn couldn't help but sympathize with the centaur prince's plight. Boredom sure was a bitch. "A poor response. Do you have any fucking idea. How easy it would be. For me to breathe fire. And end your miserable life. Right here and now? You would be so delicious. How do you know. That I am not planning to eat you. If you stay here another moment?" he bluffed, taking a step towards his house guest. 

"I know you won't, because you haven't already. Like you said, it would be easy. You could have done it the moment you saw me. But you didn't, and I'm kinda banking on the fact that that probably means you're not actually intending to. Someone like you doesn't need to bluff, not when you've got the fire power to back it up."

Caliborn nodded. "A reasonable deduction. But that doesn't change the fact. That you are not getting out of this cave. Alive."

Dirk raised an eyebrow, his muscles tensing up. "What do you mean?"

"Why should I let you leave. When I can keep you in my hoard. As a living treasure. Until you die. At which point. You will become a dead treasure. And I still win regardless."

Dirk frowned, but after a moment of weighing his options, he simply stretched out his forelegs until his horse-chest touched the floor, carefully lying down and folding his legs under him, flicking his tail idly behind him. "Sounds good."

Caliborn let out a low, hoarse chuckle. "Oh yes. How you squirm. When you realize. That I have even the power. To strip you of your most essential posession. Your very freedom!"

"Yeah, I'm squirming, alright. What's the Wi-fi password?"

Caliborn blinked in surprise, ruffling his feathers. "What?"

"It's a joke. Never mind, you wouldn't get it. Centaur humor." He shrugged dismissively.

"Are you not going to cower? Or beg for your liberty? Or run the fuck away. While you still have time?"

"Nah, I'm good. I don't have anywhere else I need to be."

"You're a prince! Don't you have. I don't know. Some sort of. Bullshit political obligations?"

"Equestria's a constitutional monarchy. I'm nothing more than a beautiful figurehead."

"All creatures desire. To be their own masters. And to do as they please! You cannot seriously be surrendering to my will. That easily!"

"Who said anything about surrendering? I'm doing exactly what I feel like doing."

Caliborn just stared at him for a moment, his eyes practically burning a hole in Dirk's face as he turned to check out the clusters of rubies emerging from the walls, resting his hands on his front hooves and patting them gently. Caliborn said nothing as he looked away, moving back to his treasure hoard and simply lying down.

The pair of them sat there, in almost complete silence, for at least three hours.

The interminable, oppressive silence was only broken by Caliborn's voice, so soft that it could have almost been the wind against the cave walls, as he almost-reluctantly mumbled, "Dirk?"

The centaur looked up, watching him for a long moment, before just as softly responding, "Yeah?"

The dragon raised his head off of his pile of gold, his face serious and unamused. After a long moment of debating with himself whether or not he was really going to go through with the request he was about to make, he just let it tumble from his mouth. "I want to play a game."

The centaur prince's mouth fell open for a brief second, his body going completely still. He seemed surprised that such a magnificent creature would want to play a game with him, or maybe just shocked at how easy and pleasant a miserable life as a piece of living treasure could potentially be. After a period of time, he gave a small, defeated shrug and said, "I don't have anything to draw with."

"I don't know. What kind of bullshit games. You stupid horse assholes play. But this does not require any drawing. Of any sort." Caliborn lifted his claws and started digging through the massive pile of gold on which he was laying, stopping when he struck a wooden box about halfway down the pile. He pulled it out with some effort, before pushing it down the slope of his treasure pile with his snout. He climbed down from his pile, pushing the box toward Dirk, seating himself before him.

Dirk raised an eyebrow, before picking up the box and examining it. The outside was completely covered in black-and-white painted squares. Inside were a multitude of beautifully-carved pieces of ebony and ivory. "Chess?" The centaur grabbed one of the ivory knights, turning it over in his hand once or twice, as if remembering something that he'd forgotten. "Yeah, why not? I'll play."

Caliborn took the box when Dirk set it down, opening it all the way and setting it down on the ground between them, setting up the ebony pieces on his own side and waiting for Dirk to do his own. "This is an ancient human game. Of strategy. And logic. I am going to defeat you. And it is going to be easy."

"I wouldn't count on it," Dirk responsed, and Caliborn could have sworn that there was just the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

Caliborn snorted, wisps of smoke curling out of his nostrils as he tapped his long, sharp claws on the floor. "White moves first."

"Isn't there a first-move advantage?" asked the prince, that tiny smile suddenly replaced by a cocky smirk.

"Of course. But you can have it. Because I have skill. And a thousand years of experience. And I don't intend to lose. No matter how much of an 'advantage.' You happen to have."

Dirk nodded, as if satisfied with the response, before moving one of his pawns two spaces forward.

The first few moves of the game happened very quickly. After that, they slowed, the players taking their time and considering their options. One turn, Caliborn took at least five solid minutes to consider his next move, tapping his claws rhythmically on the edge of the board. Before he could actually move his piece, though, Dirk broke the silence. "You know. For some kind of vicious dragon who holds pretty horses like me hostage, you're actually not so bad. I could get used to this."

Caliborn grumbled, as if considering the statment. "I was bored. And this is something to do."

"You play chess often?"

"No." Caliborn moved his bishop, taking one of Dirk's pawns.

Dirk stared at the board, considering his next move. "What do you even do with all of your time?"

"Oh. You know. Cool dragon shit."

"Uh-huh." Dirk was silent for a long moment, before taking Caliborn's bishop with his queen. "And you challenge all of your captives to chess?"

"No. You are. Actually my first captive."

"Good to know I'm so special," he said with a smirk. It wasn't even his turn, but it looked as though he was considering his next move very, very carefully. "Don't you have any friends?"

"No. Disgusting. Dragons don't need friends."

Dirk just hummed as he watched Caliborn make a quick defensive maneuver with a rook. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that." Caliborn just tilted his head to the side, looking up from the board and watching the centaur closely. His face was completely blank, unreadable, but Caliborn could tell that there was something important going on with the wheels turning in his head. "It's just..." The centaur paused for a moment, before saying. "You... remind me of someone I used to know. Back in Equestria. He never wanted me to call us 'friends,' either."

"What was he like?"

Dirk seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, furrowing his brows. "Actually? He was kind of an asshole. Stubborn as hell, a real tsundere. But he was interesting. Probably one of the most fascinating people I ever knew."

"What happened to him?" Caliborn clamped his jaws shut almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Dammit, he didn't care. He hadn't intended to ask, and he really didn't want to know. He didn't want to give even half of a shit about this centaur's stupid social nonsense. But he couldn't help but ask. Maybe it was just something to talk about.

Dirk shifted his queen into position to take the rook that Caliborn had moved. "He's lost. It's my fault. I did something to him with, uhh... centaur magic. Now he's pretty much wandering all over the place, without any memories or anything."

"So basically. It sucks to be him."

Dirk scoffed, tossing his mane away from his eyes. "Yeah."

"Did you search for him?"

"Yeah."

"It is a shame. That the asshole will wander forever. As you will be trapped here. For all of time."

"I'm sure he won't get into too much trouble while I'm here."

Caliborn considered the statement for a long moment, before taking Dirk's queen with his rook. "So it also sucks to be you."

"Absolutely," said Dirk with a nod, moving his king out of check.

Caliborn chased Dirk's king around the board for a few more minutes, his eyes growing heavier with each move. Of course, as he grew more and more tired, he barely even noticed Dirk tightening the noose around his own king, until it was too late.

"Checkmate, oh great and powerful dragon."

"Fuck!" Caliborn scratched his claws hard against the ground, blowing a stream of white-hot flames from his mouth directly at the ceiling of the cavern, illuminating everything for a moment.

"Come on, Caliborn, don't be such a sore loser. I'm sure you'll beat me next time. If you're keeping me here forever, we'll have plenty of time for a rematch."

"That's true. I guess. But." Caliborn stopped mid-thought, before craning his neck over the board, his snout inches from Dirk's face. "How the fuck. Did you know my name?"

Dirk shrugged. "How does a dragon with no human friends or associates of any kind know how to play chess?"

Caliborn froze. Where did he learn how to play? He used to play with his nest mate, he remembered, when they were just hatchlings. But who taught them? It certainly wasn't their parents. It obviously wasn't a human. They just... knew.

"Caliborn?" Dirk asked, a slight edge to his voice, as if worried that he probably crossed a line.

"Fuck off Dirk. I'm going to sleep. And you had better stay right fucking there. Until I wake up."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Caliborn retreated to his pile of treasure, and Dirk rolled clumsily over onto his side, his legs sprawling out. Just as Caliborn started to fall asleep, he could have sworn he heard the centaur mumble, "You have to remember."

Remember what? His days as a baby dragon? How big everything seemed and how fresh the grass smelled. The wind in his feathers on his first flight and the blood on his claws after his first kill. The hum of flourscent lights and the echoes of too-loud teenagers off of metal lockers. The smell of coffee and shitty perfume. The cold, cold shackle around his ankle when--

He startled fully awake, suddenly terrified of how strange and confused his dreams would likely be during this month's nap. He glanced at the centaur for comfort, but Dirk already seemed to be asleep.

"Goodnight Dirk," mumbled the dragon, like the softest little roll of thunder.

He could have sworn that he heard a whispered response, "Goodnight, Caliborn." Maybe that was just a thing in his dream, too.


	4. The Courtship of Lady Calliope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alright, I'm definitely making progress, which means I've gotta be on the right track. I just need to stay focused, no matter what this timeline expects me to do. Even if that means courting _her_ of all people. I really hope he appreciates the shit I go through for him. Nah, who am I kidding? He'd probably just complain about how long this is taking."

This was bullshit. 

No, this was beyond bullshit. This was probably the stupidest thing that had ever happened to Caliborn in his entire life, and that included the time he'd managed to lose his right leg below the knee in a hunting accident. 

This was, without a doubt, the item at the top of the list of "Stupid Shit Caliborn Never Thought He'd Have to Fucking Do." 

The Umbra estate had been in a sorry state for years, since the old lord of the manor had died. Lady Calliope was far too busy with her poems and things to actually bother with the accounting, and the young Lord would have rather been leading an army than balancing an account book. Really, it was a wonder they hadn't lost everything already. 

He shook the thought from his head. They wouldn't lose everything. They couldn't. And he would make sure of that, even if he had to do it like this. Unlike his sister, he actually gave a rat's ass about maintaining control of the land and the vassals. She didn't care. She'd run off. Dammit, Calliope. 

As with everything else, this was purely Calliope's fault. She'd never cared much for male suitors, and had vanished without a trace, along with one of her favorite maids. Lord Caliborn, on the other hand, was already more-or-less a confirmed bachelor at the age of 16. A misanthrope, a loner. And yet, here he was. If it wasn't for what he stood to lose, he would have simply bid good riddance to his sister and kept to himself for the rest of his natural life, at least, outside of necessary-yet-tedious political pursuits. 

Either way, politics were stupid. He hated them. But he knew the only way to keep the estate in his own hands was to see his sister well-married. Though poorly-kept, the estate was large, and allowing it to--temporarily, at least--fall into the control of the royalty of Derse would be mutually beneficial, for both the crown and the young Baron Umbra. 

Long story short, here he was, in a lime-green traveling gown, one of his sister's awful powdered wigs on his head, about to be escorted by a footman into the throne room to meet his sister's betrothed. 

He'd added a small lace veil, worn low on the front of the wig, to cover his scarlet eyes--the only feature of his that was significantly different from his sister's (save the wooden leg, but that couldn't exactly be helped). Her sparkling green eyes featured heavily in every official portrait that she'd had done, and the difference would certainly be noticed. Still, the lady was no great beauty. Her long eyelashes, her thin lips, her small, upturned nose, her pale, blushing skin, all were perfectly replicated on her brother's face. Even her small, bony, flat-chested figure made for a very difficult time telling the siblings apart, especially when he was wearing one of her favorite gowns. 

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for how completely fucking awful this whole thing was going to be. He reminded himself quickly that, after the marriage, he only had to make sure that the two of them were legally wed for a single night to ensure that the estate would be secure--arsenic was always an excellent option--and allowed himself to be escorted into the room.

He waited until the herald had announced the arrival of the Lady Calliope, Baronness Umbra, before slowly, carefully making his way across the room, taking a moment to look out carefully from under his veil to appraise the royals. The man in the throne was the king of Derse, of course. He was surprisingly young-looking in person (and much less impressive than his portraits made him out to be), his sandy hair lying completely flat on his head, his red eyes almost looking through his guest as he tapped a rhythm into his temple with a fingertip ("iambs," he could almost hear Calliope whisper--ugh). There was another man beside him, shorter and stockier than he was by far. He was still taller than Caliborn, but only by two or three inches. That must have been the prince, Caliborn decided. His eyes were a bright amber, and even though his hair was the same color as the king's, it was far less well-behaved, sticking up in stubborn cowlicks all over his head.

King David's expression was one of boredom. This was, after all, just another dull political match, even if it was for his younger brother and adopted ward. There was a rumor going around the kingdom that he was planning to abdicate the moment Dirk was married, possibly to take up a career in playwriting. Caliborn certainly hoped it was true. Rumors had to start somewhere, after all.

Prince Dirk, however, looked considerably less resigned than Caliborn had expected, considering that he was about to be forcibly married to someone he'd never met. The Baron kept a close watch on him, focusing as much of his attention on the difficult task of trying to read him. When he first entered the chamber, Dirk had seemed to be watching closely, as if trying to ascertain whether or not the Lady was to be accompanied by anyone else. He thought that he caught disappointment on his face, only to be replaced by curiosity as Caliborn made his careful, slightly-limping way across the room. Now that he was as close as proper decorum dictated that he should be to the throne, the prince looked almost amused, as if he was biting back laughter. That terrified Caliborn. Did he suspect?

Silently, Caliborn made a slow, clumsy curtsy. He glanced up just in time to see the king whisper something to the prince, who nodded dutifully before walking towards Caliborn and extending his arm. Caliborn took it, gently resting his hand on the prince's arm. Before he knew it, he was being led out of the hall, down unfamiliar corridors.

"Bro said I'm supposed to show you to your room," said the prince in a quiet, confidential voice. "But if you'd rather look around, you can. You're living here from now on, after all. The gardens are lovely this time of year."

Caliborn just nodded, his fingers twitching lightly on the prince's arm. He didn't like touching people, but it would have been considered a slight to simply release him now. He couldn't risk even the smallest political mistake here.

"You don't talk much do you?" said the prince, as he turned a corner. Despite the poker face he was wearing, Caliborn could tell that he was trying very hard not to laugh. "I've gotta say, that's the exact opposite of what I was expecting. You know, you're going to have to say something eventually, or else things are gonna be really awkward over the dinner table."

Caliborn cleared his throat, trying to remember exactly how his sister sounded when she talked. "Annoying" was, of course, the first word that came to mind. Her voice was a bit higher than his, and she usually talked much faster than he did. He wasn't sure that he could mimic it, even though he knew he'd have to try.

"Don't tell me you can't speak. I mean, I guess it's possible. Anything's possible. Trust me."

"I can speak," Caliborn responded very quietly. He winced the moment he heard his voice. It sounded like hers alright, but he knew he couldn't keep it up for long.

Dirk raised an eyebrow in mild surprise as they turned another corner into a corridor with a pair of large double doors at the end. "That's a relief. There are a lot of things I want to know about you. I mean, we're apparently getting married, right?" He scoffed as he spoke, as if the whole thing was some sort of elaborate joke. Caliborn sincerely, sincerely wished that it were.

"Yes. A marriage of political convenience," said Caliborn, trying to keep his words as clipped and even as possible. His voice was still just a bit more gravelly than hers, though.

"Yeah," said Dirk with a nod. "I mean, it couldn't be any other kind, right? We don't even know each other, huh, Callie?"

Caliborn flushed, and he knew that the blush would be visible even under his lace. "We've only just met. And already you call me Callie?"

"Is there something else you'd rather I call you?" The prince raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on his face. Caliborn just shook his head. There were so many ways that he could answer, but absolutely none of them were a good idea.

The prince pushed open one of the doors with his free hand, leading Caliborn outside. The ground was slightly uneven, and his fingers tightened on the prince's sleeve, grasping at the fine, smooth fabric. It was nice. "Let me know if I'm walking too fast," said the prince in an undertone.

Caliborn made a small noise of distaste under his breath before he could stop himself. He'd never let his leg stop him from doing anything before, although it would have been nice to have his trusty walking stick with him. Alas, it was just another thing that he'd have to give up temporarily if this disguise was going to be convincing.

Dirk led him past rows of flowers, into a grove of small trees with small, bright red fruits. The prince sat down on the ground, extending his hand. "You can sit down if you want. We can sit here, talk, eat cherries, whatever."

Caliborn carefully, slowly sat down in the most ladylike way he could manage. The whole process was very awkward and probably terribly unappealing to watch, but it was sort of a relief to not have to worry about walking in a delicate manner anymore.

The prince reached up, grabbing a fistful of cherries from a low-hanging branch, and handing them to his betrothed. "Word on the street is that these are your favorite, right?"

Caliborn's mood brightened slightly when the prince gave him his favorite fruit. How the hell did he know? It was a little bit creepy, but it was also weirdly satisfying and comforting. It reminded him of something for some reason, but he couldn't quite place what. Still, he had to keep his cover. He shook his head slowly, eagerly popping a cherry in his mouth. "No. My favorite fruit. Is limes."

"Limes?" Dirk's eyes widened slightly. "You mean you just eat them plain? That sounds kind of gross."

"I know." How and why she did it, Caliborn could never understand. But sure enough, the Lady Calliope was oddly fond of limes. Just another thing about her that was dumb as hell, in his opinion.

Dirk seemed to find that response amusing. "So, I was actually sort of wondering something, if you don't mind my asking."

Caliborn turned to face him, confident that Dirk couldn't see through the veil.

"How did you lose your leg?"

Caliborn could feel his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. The jig was up. It was common knowledge that he'd lost his leg in a freak accident on a hunting expedition, but no such accident had ever befallen his twin sister. 

"If you tell anyone," he said under his breath, dropping all attempts to mimic the Baroness' voice, "I'll tell them all. That you attacked me."

"I won't tell a soul," said Dirk with a small shrug, handing him more cherries. "And I won't tell them that cherries are your favorite, or that your eyes are red. Or that you can't curtsy for shit, even though that should be obvious to anyone with eyes."

Caliborn flicked a cherry pit at him. "Shut up!"

He just chuckled in response. "That was a serious question, though, Baron Umbra. How did you lose your leg?"

"I got dragged by a horse. I got one foot out of the stirrup just fine. I tried to grab onto a stump. Damn beast pulled my leg clean off. I probably should have died. But I am too fucking strong. And determined." He grinned slowly, pulling the veil off of his wig. "I shot that miserable animal. Right between the eyes with my crossbow. The second I recovered."

The prince frowned. "Poor horse."

Caliborn just shrugged, leaning back against the trunk of the cherry tree. "So. What the fuck is even happening? Are you seriously intending. To go through with this charade?"

"Definitely. I like it better this way, actually."

Caliborn raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well, just from what I've heard, you sound a lot more interesting to spend time with than your sister is. At least, that's my opinion."

"It is a good and correct opinion. She's fucking obnoxious." Caliborn discarded all attempts at being ladylike, shoving the rest of his cherries into his cheek. He found himself remembering that he was planning on spiking the prince's food with arsenic the day after the wedding. It was almost a shame. Almost. Assassinations happened all the time, it wouldn't have been the most special or unusual thing to happen. But the prince did seem like a genuinely nice person. Anyone who truly believed that Lady Calliope was comparatively uninteresting couldn't have been all bad.

"Really, the only thing that's probably a deal breaker is that you probably hate horses."

"Is that seriously. A fucking issue for you?"

"Well, I guess it's just ironic that your very disfigurement would be in the proximity of some horses. Or a singular horse, I guess."

"Is that even fucking ironic?"

"Just because they're my favorite animal, and you're apparently spending the rest of your life with me. I have a lot of horses, being a prince and all. You can't be a prince without a massive stable of magnificent white stallions. Who knows when you might need one to gallop across the countryside and engage in all kinds of princely shenanigans?"

Caliborn shivered lightly, leaning forward and resting his hand on his leg. The skirt of his gown had ridden up slightly, revealing just a little bit of the beautiful cherry-wood, with its intricate carving of entwined snakes. 

"You don't have to see them though, if you don't want to," Dirk added quickly. Caliborn turned and stared hard at him. He looked sincere, as if he'd actually noticed his discomfort. It made him feel weird, as if someone actually cared about him. He was used to being respected and feared as a powerful lord, but he knew damn well that no one really gave a shit about him. Prince Dirk had just met him, but he seemed to honestly care. It would have been frightening, if Caliborn had been a coward. But he wasn't, and so it was just weird. A good weird, maybe, but still weird.

"I had a dream about a horse last night," said Caliborn quickly. He turned bright red. He really, really hadn't meant to say that out loud. What a stupid-sounding thing for him to say, especially if the prince was convinced that he was afraid of the dumb, big animals for some reason.

"Did you?" The prince seemed even more attentive all of a sudden, as if Caliborn had just said the greatest possible thing. Maybe he really _was_ obsessed with horses. "What was it doing?"

"Playing chess," said Caliborn slowly, as if trying to remember. "Wait. No. It wasn't. That makes no fucking sense. The horse was just. Lying there. Like a useless ass. You were playing chess."

"I was?" The prince smirked, shifting just a little bit closer to Caliborn, handing him even more cherries. "You hadn't even met me yet, and you were already dreaming about me?"

"Shut up!" growled Caliborn again. "I thought it was a bad omen. Because you beat me. Even though I am really fucking good at chess. And there was a horse there. But I don't fucking know."

"What, are you seriously into dream interpretation? I mean, I've heard that you're actually surprisingly superstitious, but I really wasn't expecting that."

"Don't be stupid. Everyone knows that dreams mean shit. My idiot sister is good at interpreting them. But. I don't fucking know where she is. She ran away. Because she didn't want to marry you." He was silent for a moment, before quickly adding, "And good riddance."

Dirk didn't speak for a minute, thoughtfully popping a cherry into his own mouth. "You know, I get that you hate her and all, I really do. It makes sense to me, and you know I don't have any problems with that. Everything that you're feeling is valid, alright? But seriously, dude, it's alright to miss her a little bit. Especially if you're used to having her around."

"No! I don't!" His voice was just a little bit shrill, defensive. Dammit, he hated that. He wished he could go back in time and say that with more confidence. "She's fucking horrible. And I hope she's dead."

"I don't know what the story is here with you guys, and I'm not trying to assume anything. I'm just saying, it's a possibility. Even if you don't really care about her, she's still someone that you have a strong connection to. It's normal to feel weird about the whole situation."

"You're just doing that thing. Where you are feeling something. And so you pretend other people around you. To have the same fucking emotional problems."

"Projecting?"

"Whatever."

"Dude, what the fuck would I have to project?"

"Isn't your brother abdicating. After the wedding. To become a playwright. And probably. You will never see him again?"

Dirk said nothing for a few moments, just eating a few more cherries. "It's complicated."

"He either is. Or he is not."

"I think he is. But it doesn't matter. Like I said, it's complicated. Besides, this isn't about me right now, alright?"

Caliborn just grunted in response, silently eating a few more cherries and carefully spitting out his seeds without getting juice on his gown. "Anyway. Why the fuck do you care. How I feel about anything? You literally just met me. Less than an hour ago."

Dirk was slow to respond, but he just shrugged, leaning back against the trunk of the cherry tree. "Sure, but we're still connected, right? I mean, you were the one dreaming about me last night. Besides, we're getting married for the good of the kingdom or whatever, so we're gonna be spending a lot of time together. It would be kind of a shame if I didn't care about you, wouldn't it?"

"People in our positions. Get married all of the time. And most of them fucking hate each other. We're not special. This is a political marriage. Dumbass."

"We could be, though. Isn't it kind of up to us whether or not we're special?" Dirk was quiet for a moment before slowly, quietly saying, "I guess we'll just have to see, won't we? I think this is probably a different kind of political marriage. One where we don't hate each other, you know? I think that it must be that way, because..." He paused, as if he was trying to remember exactly what came next. "Because that is how I want it to be. And if I want something to be true hard enough, then that makes it slightly more absolutely irrefutable." He smirked, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "Are you feeling me, Lord Caliborn?"

Caliborn just blinked in mild surprise, turning towards the prince. That sounded familiar, and he did deliver it as if it were a recitation. Was it some sort of history book, or work of great literature? Maybe it was from something Dirk had read, something that Calliope had read aloud once, something that every suitably-educated young noble learned in childhood. It was like something out of a dream, or another life. He'd heard those words before. He knew he shouldn't have slept through the vast majority of his tutoring sessions, but they were just so boring. He hated school more than anything, and usually didn't even bother bringing his textbooks. Hell, he basically used his locker as a glorified candy storage unit.

What the fuck? What did that even mean?

And... wait. Come to think of it, hadn't he himself said those words before? Long, long ago?

"Caliborn?"

Caliborn shook away the distracting thoughts, neatly picking up his veil and re-attaching it to his wig. "Maybe you're right. But. It is too fucking late. To worry about that shit. And the journey here. Was fucking exhausting. Because carriages are not easy. To have pleasant napping times in."

Dirk just nodded slowly, getting to his feet before turning to help Caliborn up. "I'll take you back to your room, then. And don't worry, alright? You're secret's safe with me. We can talk more tomorrow."

It was bullshit. The whole thing was bullshit. But he felt that Dirk was being sincere, felt it in ways that he couldn't even articulate. The prince cared about him, even though they'd just met. Even though he was a nearly-impossible person to really, truly care about.

He liked it. He liked it in spite of himself. He liked it more than he liked the idea of lacing the honeymoon feast with arsenic, anyway. At least, that was his first impression. He had more than enough time to change his mind and change it back again any number of times.

"Tomorrow sounds good."


	5. The Bloody Road to Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, that sure doesn't sound good. I've got a bad feeling that we're not exactly gonna be getting the best chance to talk this time around, huh? Dammit, and we were really making progress, too."

The torches cast strange shadows on the walls of the corrior. Caliborn stepped forward, wrapping his hands around the thick, iron bars of his cell. He was eager, so eager. For one thing, he hated this shitty cell more than anything in the world. For another, he was on an incredible winning streak. Not many gladiators survived for ten full matches, but Caliborn had. Today was lucky number eleven, and he had a damn good feeling about it. Today, of course, he had far bigger fish to fry than a simple gladiatorial opponent, but that was beside the point.

"It should all up and be an easy motherfucking victory today, my wicked Moorish brother," said one of the guards, his sleepy purple eyes practically covered by loose, brown curls. Caliborn thought his name was Makara, or something like that. He'd been a fan of his since day one. Who wouldn't be? The crowd adored him. He was big, he was strong, and more than anything, he was determined. No one could outlast him, or recover from injury as quickly as he did. It was as if the gods themselves smiled on his victory. Surely, he'd be blessed today, as well.

He ran his tongue over the sharp points of his carefully-filed teeth as Makara unlocked the cell door, swinging it open with a defeaning, wailing creak. He flinched slightly at that, stepping out of the cell and into the corridor. He could see sunlight at the end of the hall, and he cracked the joints in his neck.

Other than the constant confinement, the life of a gladiator was almost a dream come true. The food was good; the glory and praise was even better. He had everything he could ever want, except, of course, his freedom. Hell, if he kept winning like this, he might even earn the chance to win that. That is, if he didn't simply take it first.

Killing his sister had been one of the best decisions he'd ever made in his life. Instead of executing him on the spot, he'd been sentenced to a life of getting to give weak, pathetic Roman slaves the good deaths that they were barely worthy of almost every day. He'd have to thank that bitch for giving him the opportunity, when they inevitably met in the afterlife.

He allowed the guards to lead him out into the sunlight, squinting for a long moment. His red eyes were annoyingly sensitive, and the sun shone almost directly over the Colosseum, not allowing for much shade. Luckily, once the adrenaline started rushing through him, he probably wouldn't even notice. He shaded his eyes with one hand for a moment, and saw another group of guards emerging from the doorway across the arena.

He almost didn't notice the man that they were escorting, since he was so incredibly small. Really, the only remarkable thing about him (other than those bright, golden eyes) was how utterly, deathly pale he was. Caliborn had always thought that the olive-skinned Romans were pale, but this man, with nothing but a smattering of freckles across his nose and shoulders, defied all comparisons. He was a Briton, Caliborn guessed, or something of the sort. His reddish-orange hair was wild, and nearly stuck vertically off of his head, with one braided, longer piece near his temple. If they ended up in close quarters, Caliborn thought that it would be easy to grab. Hair really was an inconvenience.

The other gladiator appeared to be arguing with his guards, pointing to the various pieces of armor and weaponry that they carried and shaking his head. Perhaps he thought that they had better in the shitty backwater that he probably came from. No matter the reason, his guards were looking at him as if he were mad. It would have been entertaining to watch, but Caliborn had much more productive things to do with his time.

As Makara and the others placed a large piece of armor on his shoulder, Caliborn scanned the stands. Sure enough, sitting above them in the royal box, was the Empress. Meenah Peixes Caesar. She looked down her nose at the gladiators, as if they were nothing more than ants, fated to fight and die for her amusement, her hair falling all around her in waves. It was so long, Caliborn wasn't entirely certain how she didn't trip on it. That would have been funny to see. It could also be entertaining if it happened while she was trying to run away from some threat. The idea was delicious.

He turned his attention back to his opponent, just in time to see that he'd been handed a sword. Makara presented him with his own weapon of choice: the crossbow, same as he'd had in his last ten battles. He put the pouch full of bolts on his belt, and held the bow itself loosely in his left hand.

"No! Come on, now! This is bullshit!" Caliborn furrowed his brows at the sudden cry, only to realize that it was his opponent who was calling out. "Those don't even fucking exist yet! This is the wrongest thing I've seen all day. A crossbow. Can you fucking believe this shit? A crossbow in ancient Rome. Man, fuck this."

"Shut up! And prepare to die well!" Caliborn called back, his heavily-accented Latin harsh and gravelly. The crowd went wild at his declaration, and he flashed a wide, cocky grin, holding his crossbow aloft.

The guards saluted the combatants and quickly left the arena. Caliborn cracked his joints, moving and getting a feel for his armor. Suddenly the voice of the Empress could be heard from the royal box.

"Alright, buoys! I want a good, clean, dirty fight! Give me as much bloodshed as you clam, and we'll sea who makes it out eel-live! You may begin when Red Sea!" Caliborn winced. Her puns were always terrible, but these were especially bad. Either she needed to fire her speech writer, or she needed to strongly consider hiring one in the first place.

Caliborn saluted, barking loudly, "Hail Empress! Those who are about to die! Salute you!" To his astonishment, the Briton didn't so much as move.

"That wasn't even a real fucking thing!" he shouted. "Don't listen to Russel Crowe's lies!"

The Empress, predictably, looked unamused. "Alright, Moor-ay Eel! Krill that disrespectful Celt!"

"The term Celt wasn't even used to refer to inhabitants of the British Isles until the 17th Century!"

Caliborn just saluted again, turning on the Briton, shooting him a particularly nasty grin. "Have fun talking. While you still can." He was going to enjoy this. He could end him right here and now, but it would be too easy. Besides, that wasn't really part of the plan today. Whatever, there was really no good reason not to put the fear of the gods into him a little bit. Besides, the audience loved it, and he was nothing if not eager to entertain.

The Briton hefted his sword as if he actually had some experience wielding one. A warrior, then. He really wasn't expecting it from this puny little mite. Oh, this was going to be the most fun Caliborn had had in ages.

He started walking slowly in a circle, those golden eyes never leaving Caliborn's face. Caliborn followed him, moving like a cat stalking its prey, or perhaps a cobra about to strike. Oh, yes, that was a much better comparison. 

What Caliborn wasn't expecting, though, was for the mouthy little Briton to keep talking, quietly enough this time that the audience couldn't hear. "Come on, we don't have to do this."

"Shut up," hissed Caliborn. "What are you? Some kind of fucking coward? You are here. For one reason. And only one. And that is. To die."

The Briton gritted his teeth, as if suddenly bracing himself for a challenge. Was he actually going to take this fight serisouly now?

"Caliborn, seriously. You have to listen to me. Literally everything here is wrong. This isn't real, none of this is real. It's me, Caliborn. It's Dirk. You have to trust me, alright?"

Caliborn furrowed his brows. The name Dirk meant absolutely nothing to him, although a dirk certainly would have been an interesting weapon to use if he wanted to get in for some close combat. "Wow," he said under his breath, moving just one step closer and towering over the Briton. "Look at these pathetic stalling tactics."

"Caliborn?"

"Listen Celt. I don't know how you know my fucking name. But it is inconsequential. This is a game. This is my game. I am the predator. And you are my prey."

"Wouldn't you rather settle this over a nice game of chess?"

"What the fuck is chess?"

Dirk sighed. "Oh, right, of course that one detail would be accurate here. Seriously, fuck my luck."

"You aren't even worthy. Of wasting a bolt on. I need those. For something bigger." He flashed him a grin before lowering his head, rushing him with all of the force of a stampeding bull. With almost inhuman speed, the little Briton dashed out of the way, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he sprinted.

"Bigger?"

Caliborn just shook his head at the question, but his eyes darted towards the royal box. He immediately locked eyes with Dirk again, praying that the smaller man hadn't noticed, but that raised eyebrow seemed to hint that he had.

Suddenly, the tiny man was rushing towards him, sword held aloft. The audience gasped as if concerned for their champion. Dirk's sword simply glanced off of the armor covering Caliborn's shoulder, though, and with another step, he was close enough to grapple.

Caliborn immediately tucked his crossbow under his arm, protecting it from the possibility of sabotage as he grappled with his opponent.

"You're gonna shoot her, right?" whispered Dirk.

"Shut up!" Caliborn hissed in response. "It's none of your fucking business!"

"Do you even have an escape plan?"

Caliborn didn't respond, just letting out an inhuman screech and bashing his head against Dirk's. Dirk let out a hiss of shock and pain, dropping to the ground, the hilt of his sword still tight in his hand.

Caliborn grinned, staring down at him. He was far too busy lying on the ground like a pathetic infant, his hand pressed to his forehead. The audience was going wild, cheering and laughing at how inevitable the outcome of this match was sure to be. Caliborn raised his arms theatrically, before walking over towards his strange opponent, placing one large, bare foot directly on his tiny chest.

"I could end your worthless life. Right fucking now. If I wanted to," Caliborn said simply.

"Why don't you?"

He hesitated. It wasn't like there was anything stopping him. Hell, it was what his adoring fans wanted to see. He didn't even know this man. Even if he did, it wouldn't have stopped him. Hell, he'd killed his own sister, too. It wasn't exactly hard. They'd gotten into a fight, as usual, and he'd lost his temper. There was no use in regretting it. Besides, he'd hated her. 

This man, he had no feelings about either way. He was just another piece of meat, another target. He'd killed ten other guys, just like this one. Hell, bigger, stronger, more honorable guys. There was nothing special about this man. Nothing at all.

Still, when he asked if he'd had an escape plan, it was almost as if he was asking to become an accomplice. It was unexpected, to say the least.

Caliborn put his weight onto his right foot, watching the man squirm in pain as he stepped on his rib cage. He rested his right elbow on his knee, leaning over it casually.

"I hadn't got that far. In the planning phase. But I am strong. And I can run."

Dirk blinked in surprise, before glancing up at Caliborn, and then farther past him towards the royal box.

"I have an idea. But you're not gonna like it," he choked back, his voice breathless from the pressure on his lungs.

"Try me."

"It's going to hurt like a bitch."

"You are misunderestimating. My capacity to tolerate. And even enjoy. Great pain."

"You might even die."

"I'm a gladiator. Dumbass. That's right in the fucking job description."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

Dirk chuckled, a raspy, strained sound. "You just have to kill one person to win your freedom, but you're going to have to trust me, and you're going to have to make a sacrifice. Why does this seem so familiar?"

The knowing smirk on the subjugated Briton's face almost made Caliborn's heart skip a beat. It did seem familiar, didn't it? He glanced up at Caesar, the woman who represented his life as a captive. This was a scenario he'd been in before, he realized. The target was different, sure, but the concept was the same. He trusted Dirk. He had before, lifetimes ago.

"Celt. We have met before."

"Yes. But now isn't the time to reminisce, alright? I'm going to do something, and all you need to do is try to focus, and try to not pass out. I'll give you a signal, and then I need you to shoot me in the face as hard as you can. Just slam down the fucking trigger once I give the signal, alright?"

"What signal?" The Briton opened his mouth to speak, but he just couldn't seem to catch his breath. Instead, he just winked, and Caliborn responded with a wordless nod. 

He glanced up at the audience. Almost everyone seemed to be leaning forward in their seats, ready to see what kind of death their idol would bestow upon the unworthy Briton. He grinned widely, loading a bolt into his crossbow, and pointing it directly at his opponent's face.

Suddenly, without any warning, so quickly that Caliborn almost didn't realize what had happened, Dirk's sword glinted in the sunlight, and Caliborn could feel the entire arena spinning, his back taking the impact as he fell. The audience let out a roar of shock, as Dirk got to his feet, covered in blood.

Caliborn blinked, staring at the sun, remembering his determination. He couldn't pass out, no matter what, no matter how deeply the wily Briton had cut him. Even if his right leg was almost competely gone.

Fuck, it was, wasn't it?

Suddenly, the sun was blocked out by a shadowy figure. "Dirk Human," Caliborn mumbled, as if in a trance. Why had he called him that? The blood loss was really starting to get to him.

"Now, Caliborn," hissed Dirk, his tone frantic.

Caliborn lifted his arm, his fingers twitching on the trigger of his crossbow. He aimed right for the middle of Dirk's face, ready to shoot him right between the eyes like a beast that had outlived his usefulness.

A split-second before he could pull the trigger, though, the shadow disappeared, the sun blinding him for a moment. When the bolt flew, the Briton was no longer directly in front of the crossbow. He'd stepped out of the way with his almost-impossible reflexes, leaving the bolt to fly, uninterrupted, in a high, graceful arc.

It was as if the sound of screams invigorated him, giving him more reasons to remain alert, the adrenaline rushing through his body. A clear, slightly-panicked voice cried out, "Guards! Return the combatants to their barracks! Today's match is cancelled due to this... this freak accident!"

He tried to sit up, only to see Makara rushing towards him with a large amount of cloth, trying desperately to stop the bleeding from the stump under his knee where his right leg had once been. When he turned to face the royal stand, there was a huge crowd blocking his view. Still, the bitch's hair was clearly visible, and he knew that she was dead. To think, it had only taken him a single shot.

He scanned the arena for Dirk, just in time to see him being led out of the arena by his own guards. Had he seriously calculated the trajectory that quickly and easily? First of all, he had to have been able to predict exactly how Caliborn would fall. Not just that, but the way he'd managed to stage everything to look like an accident was incredible. He was clever, and maybe not the worst ally to have on his side. 

As if Dirk could sense him staring, the man turned around, barely visible surrounded by guards. "You have to remember!" he called out, before disappearing into the shadow of the corridors inside of the Colosseum.

Remember what? The first time they'd met?

They must have. Dirk knew him, somehow. 

He could almost remember meeting him, but where? There were memories there, he could just about reach them, but he couldn't place them accurately. They all looked like images from someone else's lifetime, stories that were so jumbled and convoluted that they couldn't possibly have been related.

As the guards carried him back to his cell, he made a solemn oath. Someday, he would learn to walk again. Someday, he would meet Dirk again. Someday, he would remember how the fuck they knew each other. 

He had to remember. He had to.


	6. A Boy and His Spaghetti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nope. Fuck this shit, this is ridiculous. I don't know what kind of furry yiffing bullshit is being implied here, but I don't like it. No, I am not going to fuck the snake. Snake-fucking is not what is going to take place here. I was really hoping for a change of pace from yesterday, but this absolutely is not what I had in mind. God fucking dammit, Caliborn."

The ball python tried his damndest to remain sleeping in his tank, despite his stupid nestmate's best efforts. What the hell was she even doing? They were nocturnal, and it was definitely not nighttime. Still, she wouldn't stop slithering around, sniffing the air, and just generally making herself a nuisance. Why she didn't just curl up on one of the nice, cozy heated rocks in the tank and take a nap was completely beyond him.

He heard the little bell above the door jingle, and the sound of footsteps and human voices. Just because animals had a way of understanding the things that humans said a lot of the time, it didn't mean that they often cared. The ball python most definitely didn't give a shit. Besides, it was inconsequential. They were here to take away one of the obnoxious birds who wouldn't stop saying the same stupid catchphrases repeatedly, or one of the small, tender little morsels--er, gerbils. There were light little footsteps, which seemed to indicate that at least one of the humans was just a hatchling. Human hatchlings usually had very little interest in snakes, unless it was just to press their warm, yellow-orange faces to the fiberglass. Other than that, it was often very hard to see them through the walls of the nice, warm tank.

Honestly, it was fine. He just wanted to stay in his tank and eat mice. Having an owner was overrated, anyway. He didn't want to be forced into wearing little sweaters, or to have his pictures posted all over the human "internet," or any of the other indignities that pet snakes were so often subjected to.

He coiled tighter around the rock that he was attemting to nap on, as he heard light, quick footsteps approaching his tank. Suddenly, everything went just a bit darker as the lid was removed, the comparatively-cold air of the pet shop invading the tank. It wasn't feeding time, either, so this was definitely a bad sign.

He cautiously slid open his clear eyelids, watching whatever the fuck was going on. There was his nestmate, eagerly flailing around and snuffling cutely at the bright, warm human arm. Ugh, she really was shameless. The small hand hovered over her head for a moment, as if debating picking her up. Suddenly, it shifted towards him instead. He felt a deep, sudden revulsion. He didn't want a human picking him up! Without a second thought, he struck at the warmth, giving a quick, shallow bite to the human hatchling's clumsy hand.

The hand recoiled for only a second, and the python heard a voice mumble, "That's you, alright." Suddenly, the hand was on him, and despite his best efforts at wriggling away, he was being lifted out of the tank by both the human hatchling and the pet store owner. His nestmate looked on, clearly just a bit disappointed, before heading towards the warm rock that he'd just left vacant. Bitch.

"Uhh... maybe you should, umm... let me handle this?" said the pet store guy, as he carried him gently toward the counter. "You, uhh... you might get bitten again, and it'll probably hurt a lot."

"I can handle him," said the human hatchling, his tone not at all what the python was expecting. He didn't talk like a hatchling. They were all excitement and obnoxious yelling. This one's voice was as cool and flat as his hand had been warm.

"Are you, uhh.... Are you going to buy some supplies?"

"Shit, man, we already have that stuff at home," said another voice. "You would not believe how excited this little man has been to get his first pet."

"I want to hold him," said the kid quickly, and the python curled himself into a small, nervous ball as the pet store owner handed him off to the kid. He had a nice heat signature, and an even better scent, and he had to admit, curling into the boy's warm, steady hands was better than being handled by the pet store guy. 

"You think of a name for him yet, little man?"

The boy didn't even hesitate before responding, "Caliborn."

It was a good name, the python decided. It sounded like a correct answer.

"Uhh... hey, uhh, I think you could maybe try putting him around your shoulders," said the pet store guy. "Might make you, umm... you know, less likely to drop him?"

The boy complied, and Caliborn quickly curled up, dropping his tail down the boy's back to soak up more of that sweet, sweet mammalian body heat.

Caliborn watched as the adult human did the card thing that represented some kind of transaction (humans were weird and complicated), and then took the boy's hand. He could see the boy's skin turn an even brighter shade of yellow beneath the cold, deep blue triangles that he was wearing on his face. "You ready to go home, little man?"

The boy didn't answer for a long moment, before responding, "Yeah. Sure, Bro."

Once they were outside, Caliborn was relieved to find that it was actually a warm day. Still, he clung to the human hatchling. Even though he wasn't interested at all in being anyone's pet, this human hatchling didn't grab at him or squeeze his coils like some of the other ones that the pet store guy had shown him to. He just let him curl up, cling to him, and sniff at the air without really bothering him.

It made him wonder what limitations there really were on him. After all, he wasn't about to willingly submit to a human master. The moment they were in the adult human's car, he tightened his coils just a bit, feeling the boy's throat completely enclosed by his body.

"Stop," the boy mumbled.

The other human looked over quickly, his skin looking just a little bit colder than it had before. "Hey, Dirk? I don't think wearing the snake as a necklace is a good idea. Snakes make terrible necklaces."

"I've got everything under control."

The Bro human was silent for a long moment before saying, "Are you sure? Little man, you've been acting weird all day. I mean, it's not freaking me out or anything, because I'm too cool to freak out like that. I mean, you're growing up, so I guess acting weird sometimes is normal? But now you've got a deadly animal wrapping itself around your windpipe, so maybe you should actually listen to me a little bit?"

Suddenly, the Dirk human's hands were on his coils, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to send a warning. "Caliborn, stop."

"It's a snake. I don't think it can understand what you're saying. I mean, if it does, then that's pretty cool. We can teach it how to rap in snake language, put it in all of the movovies. But okay, it's time to be serious, and I'm seriously telling you that I don't think telling it to stop is going to do shit. Also, it's really big, so there's that." 

The Dirk human just shrugged, and Caliborn decided that it was probably best not to just strangle him on the spot. He wasn't quite as warm as his nice, heated tank back at the pet store had been, but he was the warmest thing available, so Caliborn guessed he was alright.

When they reached the human den, Dirk quickly got out of the car, carrying his new snake with him. Caliborn just clung tightly, slightly concerned by the rapid motion, as the boy carried him through the den and into a small, warm room.

"This is my room, I guess." Dirk said with a small shrug. He didn't say anything else for a while, just sitting on a slightly-bouncy surface and holding Caliborn in his small, warm arms.

"I don't know if you can understand anything I'm saying this time, Caliborn," he said quietly, as he gently started to pet his scales. "I thought I was so ready for today, you know? I thought I could handle anything after what happened yesterday. But this isn't that much better. Fuck it, it's probably worse."

Caliborn had no idea what the human was talking about, but that didn't matter. Basically everything that humans said was just meaningless garbage. He stretched himself up to look at the human's face for a moment, sniffing at the air with his tongue, before turning to tunnel up his sleeve.

"Cut it out, dude, that tickles!"

Caliborn did not cut it out, but tunnelled through until he reached the hole in the Dirk human's shirt that his neck was sticking out through, and just hung out there. It was a nice, warm spot.

"This is really fucking weird, alright? I'm so used to having to watch what I say, or try to lead you to talk about the shit I need you to talk about. But you're not saying anything here, and I don't know what I'm even supposed to say. Hell, for all I know, I may as well be talking to a wall. I mean, I'm pretty sure you can hear me, but I may as well be reciting Shakespeare, huh?"

Caliborn decided that he didn't mind the human talking. Sure, it was all stupid nonsense, and the constant noise was interrupting any hope he had of taking a nice nap in the boy's shirt, but there was something kind of soothing about it, almost like white noise.

"I know you probably still don't remember anything. I guess that's probably for the best in this particular scenario, though. It's probably hell to not be able to say anything when you want to, or give me some indication that you know I'm not just completely full of shit this time. I thought you were starting to remember, the last few days. But here we are, on day six of the big cherub rescue mission, and I have less than no idea how close we are to done."

Caliborn flicked his tongue at the human hatchling's ear, only to have his head gently brushed aside by the back of the boy's hand.

"Look, all I fucking wanted was to talk to you again. Like, an actual conversation. It's been a long time, Caliborn."

Caliborn started to slither upwards, reaching the boy's hair. It was weirdly spiky, instead of being as soft as he'd always assumed human hair was.

"Were you avoiding me? Was it because I told you that your art was shit? I guess I was a little harsh. But let's face it, dude, that drawing was fucking terrible. That's a really stupid reason to ignore someone for months."

Caliborn tightened his coils slightly, squeezing the boy's shoulder. When he lifted his hand to again, Caliborn struck at it. He wasn't even particularly angry, but something about his human gibberish was becoming mildly irritating.

"Was it the thing with Jake? I mean, I know it wasn't exactly your OTP or anything. But that still strikes me as bullshit. I mean, I'm sure Jane wasn't too happy about the whole thing, either, but you didn't see her fucking off and refusing to talk to us for months at a time."

Caliborn struck again, and Dirk quickly pulled his hand away. 

"If you keep biting me, I'm just going to put you in your tank and wait out the rest of this shitty day by myself."

Caliborn rested his head back down against the boy's hair.

"I always thought we were friends, you know? I mean, people don't just design complex prosthetics for and get involved in secret conspiracy hitman schemes with people they don't give a shit about. We always gave each other a hard time, but that's just how friends are sometimes. I mean, I _guess_ that's how friends are sometimes. That's what I've gathered from movies and books and shit. What do I know? I mean, I only ever had you, and Jane, and Rox, and Jake. And I guess Hal, but that's complicated, too. Well, and the C-man, but he was, well... a lot like this, actually."

Caliborn wrapped around the boy's neck again, sniffing the air by his face and looking at his warm, warm heat signature, covered by those weird, cold shapes. Suddenly, the boy reached up and removed the cold shapes, and Caliborn rested gently against his warm, warm temple.

"Well, not exactly like this. I mean, at least you're sort of responding. Kind of."

Dirk moved Caliborn out of the way, lying back on the soft surface that Caliborn assumed was a human bed and setting his new pet on his chest.

"At least I know you're not dead, now. You didn't just bleed out on the floor, which means that the prosthetic worked. I don't know how I could have lived with myself if it failed, dude. I mean, I guess I still ended up fucking you over big time, but at least you'll survive this. Well, hopefully. I mean, who knows? We might end up having to fight to the death again. I won't hold back if we do, you know. And I know that you won't either. You always said that you wanted to see me die, and I guess I never was really sure how serious you were about that."

Dirk stroked his scales with one hand, and Caliborn once again threaded himself through Dirk's sleeve and neckline, curling up around the little bridge of fabric.

"Anyway, I think I'd rather fight you to the death again than get stuck in another one of these shitty timelines with some fake version of my bro. Well, I guess they're not really 'fake.' They're all basically him, just like all of my splinters are basically me. But it's weird, seeing what my life could have been like if I'd been any of these Dirks, instead of the 'alpha' Dirk, whatever the fuck that means."

Caliborn responded by tucking his head between Dirk's chin and his chest. It was an especially nice, warm spot, he realized, as he tucked a fat coil directly over the center of the boy's chest.

"I mean, I guess you're proof-positive that all of that 'alpha' timeline shit doesn't mean a damn thing. Like, I guess you're the 'alpha' Caliborn, but then, who was the one that I ripped the soul out of? He wasn't any less real than you are, was he? I guess what I'm trying to say is, I shouldn't be surprised that any of this happened. I should have known that this would be how this shit works, especially when you got involved. We're just a mess of crazy powers, aren't we?"

Caliborn flicked his tongue a few times, as if he wanted to respond. He wasn't sure that he did. What would he even say? If he could speak, he would probably ask for a mouse. He knew that Dirk was feeling like shit, and he wasn't even sure that he cared. What was Dirk to him, but a source of warmth? Maybe if he could speak, though, he would have known what to say.

The boy was silent for a long moment, before he finally spoke again, his voice softer than it had been before. "I know you'd probably tell me to stop being so pathetic, if you could talk right now. You'd tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and just do what I have to do. But, you know something? As sad and pathetic as it is, Caliborn, I... I really fucking miss you, dude."

Caliborn sniffed at the air, pressing his head against Dirk's cheek. He was right there, and he wasn't going anywhere. Humans were stupid. How could you miss someone you just met, someone who was literally curled up on top of you?

"I miss your dumb games that didn't make any sense, and drawing stupid crap for you. I miss your shitty twists. I miss hearing you misuse the term 'ironic' because I guess you thought it sounded cool or something. I miss your Freudian slips, and how it was so easy to talk to you that I could never really tell if we were flirting or not. I guess I don't miss you insulting my friends all the time, but I'd still listen to it if it meant I could get all of the good shit back."

Caliborn settled in against the human's chest, flicking his clear eyelids closed, as if trying to indicate that he was comfortable, and wanted to take a nap.

"I guess I'm just using you as a sounding board now. I know it's selfish of me, but hey, I guess it's not the worst thing I've ever done. I mean, I've always been shitty at letting the people I care about know how much they mean to me. That goes for all my friends, including you. Hell, maybe even _especially_ you. I don't know."

Caliborn just nudged the boy's face gently.

"The funniest part is, if you weren't literally a snake, you'd probably think this was all kinds of fucked up, what we're doing right now. Just... you letting me hold you. And I guess you're falling asleep, so maybe the whole naptime-slash-cuddling thing is what's about to take place here. I'm just trying to imagine how you'd even react. You'd probably act like I just asked you to fuck me up the ass while wearing a horse costume in the middle of the road during a Fourth of July parade."

Caliborn just lifted his head slightly as Dirk paused, inserted a finger into his mouth, and wiggled one of the tiny, pathetic, flat human hatchling teeth in his mouth.

"Actually, never mind. It feels kinda fucked up somehow, saying shit like that while I'm busy being this particular timeline's Dirk. Do you think that if we take a nap, it'll make tomorrow come faster? I'm sick of this particular corner of Paradox Space."

Caliborn closed his eyelids again, bumping his snout against Dirk's face.

"You too, huh?" Dirk watched him carefully for a long moment, as if trying to ascertain how much he actually understood, before gently patting the smooth scales on his back. "Well, I'll see you on the other side, I guess. Goodnight, Caliborn."

Caliborn coiled up, resting his head under Dirk's. If he could talk, he knew exactly what he would have said to him. He would have said, "Goodnight, Dirk human."

"Wait, Caliborn? One more thing, before you fall asleep."

Caliborn flicked out his tongue, wriggling impatiently. He was so very nearly asleep, and this human wouldn't stop talking. As warm and as comfortable and as weirdly compelling as he was, this seriously had to stop.

"You have to remember, alright?"

Caliborn fell asleep before the boy could even finish his sentence.


	7. We the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are we even making progress anymore? Is this harder than I thought, or am I just really sucking at it for some reason? I don't know how much more of this I can take."

He'd heard about the outbreak on the news last week, and even if he hadn't, everyone was talking about it. No one knew just what was causing it to happen, but it seemed to be airborne, as well as infectious. Just a single bite was enough to turn a perfectly normal person into a ravenous, flesh-craving monster in under 24 hours. Doctors and scientists couldn't seem to agree on a good term for those affected. "Walkers" was floated around a good deal, as were "the infected," "revenants," "anomalies," and the tried-and-true "living dead."

Of course, the general public were just calling them "zombies."

It didn't matter what they were called. That's what they were, and everyone knew it.

Most people were terrified. They called it the end times, or the zombie apocalypse. It was exactly like all of those popular movies, TV shows, and video games had predicted.

Caliborn Scratch, though, hadn't been afraid at all. He thought it was exciting. 

He'd killed so many zombies in video games that he was almost itching to try it in real life. He'd always thought of it as somehow glamorous, walking down dusty roads into the sunset, spattered with blood and armed with all kinds of improbable weapons, killing horrible, rotting flesh monsters left and right. He was so ready for the zombie apocalypse.

At least, he had been.

No, he still was, he insisted, shoveling candy into his backpack. He couldn't think of anything else to do. His hands weren't shaking at all, dammit. He was strong, and he was tough, and he was seventeen years old. Besides, he'd only done what he had to do.

A fuck-ton of candy, a flashlight, a crowbar, a plushie of Scar from the Lion King, his 3DS and charger... did he need anything else? No, he was probably good. He hesitated for a moment before heading back out to the living room. He'd always thought it would be cool to be covered in bits of zombie, standing over the useless corpse that had failed to bite him.

This wasn't quite what he had in mind.

Dammit, why the fuck hadn't she told him that she was bitten? She should have said something, made it easier for everyone. But no. She had to suffer in silence, pretending that everything was alright with that stupid stiff upper lip of hers. He was almost seeing red just thinking about it. She'd been dead for less than an hour, and already she was rotting, her green jacket spattered with blood. Luckily, it was all her own blood. She didn't bite him. Not even once.

It had taken eleven smacks of the crowbar to get her to stop crawling towards him. Eleven. He could still hear the sickening crunch of each impact.

Why didn't she say anything!?

He kicked her one more time for good measure. That would teach her not to pull shit like that ever again.

It was fine. It was all fine. He hated her. Sure, they'd never been apart for more than a day at a time in their entire lives. Sure, that weird telepathic twin connection they'd always shared was still switched on in the back of his mind, making a part of him feel as if he was trying to dial a landline phone with its wires cut. But that was fine. It was like he used to joke about before all of this, before the world ended. He was free.

At least, he needed to frame it that way. Had to. Wanted to. Whatever, it didn't matter. It was all the same.

He couldn't stand here too much longer, though. He had shit to do. He was alive, even after the end of the world, and he was ready to embrace the destiny that he'd been training for for years.

Really, the only thing he was missing was more party members. It wasn't like he needed them, really. He'd always been a misanthrope, and he wasn't really trying to make friends right about now. 

That being said, he knew that his next-door neighbors had always been sword junkies. The whole family, actually, all three of the Strider brothers. Dave, the eldest, was kind of an insufferable prick. Hal, the youngest, was a little shit, and a drama king of the highest caliber. But the middle brother, Dirk, went to school with Caliborn. He was alright, he guessed. He didn't hate him as much as he hated everyone else, anyway. He wasn't loud, or annoying. Yeah, he was friends with Callie's shitty friends, but he never seemed to talk about Caliborn the same way that the others did. He never talked down to him. If anyone would be a good partner/rival to get into all kinds of post-apocalyptic zombie adventures with, it had to be Dirk Strider.

He headed outside to the cul-de-sac, practically slamming his door behind him. He hopped the fence between his house and the one next door, hitching his backpack onto his shoulders and standing under the window. "Dirk! Hey! The zombies are already here fucker! You'd better get out. While you still have a chance!"

There was no response, but he heard a sound like smashing glass. He furrowed his brows before running around the house, just in time to find Dirk on the patio, slowly walking backwards away from the back entrance to his kitchen.

"Dirk! Did you hear me? I said. That the fucking zombies. Are already here!"

Dirk didn't respond, though, staring right at something in front of him. "Get away from me!" he said forcefully, just a hint of trepidation in his voice. "I have a sword! I'll use it, I swear! It's sharp! And it's awesome, and... and it's a sword!"

Caliborn could only imagine what the scene inside the house must have looked like, as a zombie followed Dirk out of the house, making those horrible, gagging sounds that they were so fond of making. From the douchey aviators, it was instantly obvious that it was Dave. Just as much of a prick in death as he was in life, clearly.

"Dirk! We don't have time for this shit! End the fucker. And get your ass over here!"

Dirk looked over at him quickly, looking more frazzled than Caliborn had ever seen him.

"I can't kill Bro, dude!"

"That's not your fucking bro! Idiot!" Caliborn ran over, his blood-covered crowbar still in his hand. "Just chop his fucking head off!"

"It's not that easy, he's..."

"That thing. Is the monster. That killed your fucking brother! He's dead already! You stupid piece of shit! Destroy this thing!"

"You've got a weapon, too. You do it."

"And take from you the satisfaction. Of getting revenge. On the thing that killed someone. Who was fucking important to you?" Caliborn froze almost the second he said it, his fist clenching around his crowbar.

Dirk watched him carefully for just a second, before turning around and cutting down the zombie mid-shuffle, slicing its head clean off of its shoulders.

He slouched there in front of the body, panting with exhaustion and fighting back the urge to heave. When he finally stood up straight, running his hand through his hair, he turned to Caliborn and raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you just did, uhh... pretty much the same thing?"

Caliborn just shrugged, one hand moving to a blood-drenched suspender strap, tugging at it anxiously. "Put a fucking zombie. Out of its pathetic misery? Yeah."

Dirk just nodded slowly. "You know me?"

Caliborn just snorted incredulously. "I'd fucking better! I've lived right over there. Literally my entire life. And also. Sat behind your stupid spiky head in math class. For two years in a row."

The two of them stood quietly for a long moment, before Caliborn slid his backpack off of his shoulders, taking out a bag of lollipops. He pulled out a cherry one, shoving it in his own mouth, before tossing one of the orange-flavored ones to Dirk.

"What's this for?"

"You looked like you needed it. Don't read too much into it. Candy is good. Especially in an emergency. Because it fills you with sugar. And calories. And energy. And also. It tastes really fucking good. And boosts morale." He zipped his backpack shut again and hoisted it back onto his shoulders, turning away and heading for the road.

Dirk followed him, slipping his sword into the hilt on his belt, and slipping his hands into his pockets along with the lollipop. "So, what? Did you just come here to give me a pep talk and share your candy?"

"Well. I was going to ask you. To be on my team. For the zombie apocalypse."

"Team? What team?"

"Just me and you."

Dirk raised one eyebrow from behind his anime shades. "Wait, are we like... a thing, or something?"

Caliborn turned as bright cherry red as the highlights in his black hair, baring his teeth. "What!? No! Fuck no!"

"Either that or you like me, don't you?"

"No. Wrong. False," Caliborn spoke very quickly, his hands pumping desperately at his suspenders. "Correction. I don't hate you. As much as I hate everyone else. But that is not the same fucking thing. As liking you. Dumbass."

"Uh-huh." Dirk frowned slightly, pressing his hand to his forehead again. "Sorry, these last few days have been hell, and I can't seem to keep anything straight anymore."

"Did you fall on your head?"

"Something like that."

"You probably have a concussion. Dumbass. You should go to the hospital. Except that they're all full. So. That's not fucking happening."

"So, what does a zombie apocalypse team even do?"

"Oh. You know. Typical shit. Find a base. Defend it from raiders. Join other groups. Stab them in the fucking back for resources. Kill zombies. And above all. Become fucking legends."

"You've played an awful lot of zombie games, haven't you?"

Caliborn crunched down on his lollipop, throwing the stick on the ground. "Shut up!"

"Let me guess," said Dirk, the corners of his lips starting to flick upwards into a grin, "You're gonna get bitten in the leg, and then you're going to be all, 'I. Won't. Turn into. A Zombie. Because. I am. Really fucking determined.' And then you're going to make me amputate it, right?"

"I don't even fucking talk like that!"

"You really do, Caliborn, you really, honestly do." Dirk was laughing, almost hysterically. He ripped his shades off of his face, rubbing one of his leather glove-clad hands over his eyes. "I never fucking imagined that you actually, honest-to-god talked like that. I mean, you type like that, but I thought it was just some weird thing you were doing to be dramatic. I had no idea that you actually, really talked like that, and it's the funniest goddamn thing."

"Dirk. What the fuck are you talking about?"

Dirk stopped walking and stood there laughing for almost a full minute, and several times, Caliborn considered just turning around and leaving without him. In the end, though, he decided to stay.

"Dirk?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Dirk laughed, tears streaming from his eyes. "Did I mention that these past few days have been completely fucking ridiculous? Because they have been. I guess that's not really an excuse, but man, I don't think I have ever been this exhausted. And then the thing with Bro, I just, I can't fucking deal with this shit right now."

"You are not acting like Dirk."

"But I _am_ Dirk, and that's the funniest part of this whole fucking situation. I am _more_ Dirk then you can even fathom, Caliborn."

"How?"

Dirk coughed a few times, took a deep breath through his nostrils, and then slipped his shades back into place. Within moments, it was as if whatever demon had posessed him there had stopped, as if he'd just slipped the poker-face mask right back on.

"Never mind. I'm fucking this shit up already, which isn't exactly good for being part of a post-apocalyptic zombie video game team, right? Don't worry, I think I've got my shit under control."

Caliborn furrowed his brows and started walking again. He picked up the pace, walking ahead of Dirk, and slipped sideways so that he was walking directly in front of Dirk.

"What, can't even look at me?"

"No jackass. I am exposing the zippered part of my backpack to you. Because there is a fuck ton of candy in there. And it is a pain in the ass. To stop walking. And get some out. So this way. You can just grab some yourself."

"Are you serious?"

"I told you. Candy is good for morale. And I can't have my post-apocalyptic zombie video game partner-slash-rival. Losing his fucking shit. Less than ten minutes. Into our adventure."

Dirk was silent for a long moment, but eventually, Caliborn felt Dirk grab his zipper, matching his steps to avoid slowing him down. After Dirk zippered him back up, he fell into step beside him. With some satisfaction, he noticed that Dirk had picked out another one of the orange lollipops that he'd given him earlier. So that had been a good choice, after all.

Dirk looked as though he was mulling something over in his head for a moment, before he slipped the candy out of his mouth, gesturing with it as he spoke. "Partner-slash-rival?"

"Of course. We will need to protect each other. And take turns being look-out. And all of that bullshit. But also. We will probably argue about shit. And fight over whether or not. To make morally complicated decisions. And also? We can keep each other motivated. By trying to kill more zombies. Than each other. Even though I am going to win."

"I see." Dirk ran a hand through his hair, stretching his shoulders before slipping his hands back into his pockets.

The two of them walked in silence for a long time, before Dirk suddenly said, "You know, there's a Lion King plushie in your backpack."

"Yeah. So?"

"I just never would have guessed that you were into shit like that. Plushies, I mean. Or kid's movies, come to think of it."

"It's Scar. He is fucking awesome. And also? Disney movies. Are not just for children. They are for people. With good taste in movies." Caliborn shrugged, his face turning pink again, and fingers rubbing over the fabric of his suspender straps. "And anyway. Soft animal toys. Are warm. And nice to hold."

"Whatever you say, dude," Dirk said with a small shrug.

Caliborn turned on him, teeth bared and brows furrowed. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just interesting. You really are a fascinating guy."

Caliborn scanned his face, sure that there was some sort of insult buried in there somewhere. Since he couldn't find it, though, he decided that it was probably better not to look too hard. "Yeah. You bet your ass I am."

They kept to back roads, and managed to avoid zombies until sundown. Once it was clear that visibility was practically a lost cause (they had to save flashlight batteries for an emergency, after all), they only kept walking until they came to an old, abandoned shed, locking themselves in for the night. Caliborn pulled out his 3DS and Dirk, who had forgotten to bring anything, just watched. To his surprise, Caliborn actually turned down the 3D feature when he realized that Dirk was trying to see what he was playing ("It hurts my eyes anyway," grumbled Caliborn, as if trying to explain that he wasn't actually being considerate). They feasted on candy, and tried to distract themselves from everything that had happened.

By the time they were ready to sleep, Caliborn had already pulled Scar out of his backpack, and almost immediately buried his face into the soft, fake-fur mane. Dirk sat close beside him, but not close enough that they were touching. Caliborn had already made it very clear earlier in the evening that he wasn't comfortable with being touched, and it was really, extremely satisfying and comforting how well Dirk was respecting his boundaries.

"Hey, Caliborn?" mumbled Dirk, as he leaned back against the shed wall and tried to sleep.

"Yeah?" Caliborn mumbled back, his words muffled by a mouth full of plush lion hair.

"You have to remember."

"Remember what?"

"Just remember."

Caliborn yawned, moving his head to the side to look at Dirk. "I promised myself that I would. It was a long time ago."

"Wait, you promised yourself that you'd remember?"

"Yeah. How we met."

"You don't remember?"

Caliborn shook his head. "We were kids. But. I don't remember anything. Other than that."

"Do you remember how we used to play games together?"

"Chess?"

"Yeah, and the game where I drew things for you?"

"I think so."

"Anything else?"

"I remember. Cherries. And." He yawned again, already half-asleep. It was annoying, being stuck in the limbo between sleeping and waking. "Something about. Staying warm."

"What?"

But Dirk didn't get a response. Caliborn was already asleep by the time his head hit Dirk's shoulder.


	8. Timaeus' Last Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I guess I'm Timaeus, huh? Do I die in this one? Not that that's really new territory for me or anything, but... I don't actually know what happens if I die while I'm controlling a splinter. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I know he's starting to remember. I have to fix this, no matter what it takes."

Umbrage the Undying spun idly in his swivel chair, readjusting himself every few seconds to prevent his flowing, scarlet cape from getting too caught up in the wheels and base of the chair. He'd been waiting damn near an eternity for his captives to wake up. It was worth it, of course, and he could be a very patient man when he wanted to be. Right now, though, he was bored and slightly anxious, and just wanted to get this whole thing over with. He'd practiced his speech at least 110 times. Everything had to be perfect, completely perfect. This wasn't just any caped crusader he was dealing with. He could have dispatched some insignificant, meddlesome do-gooder like Carcinogen or the Ghosty Trickster simply, efficiently, without a second thought. But this wasn't just any hero. This was Timaeus. It had to be special.

Suddenly, the little egg-timer that he'd set on his control panel went off with a soft, gentle _ping!_ to indicate that the sleeping gas should have mostly worn off. He glanced at the camera feed and, sure enough, there was that shitty little boy-wonder Golgotha, struggling against his restraints. He assumed that that meant that Timaeus was awake as well, although he seemed infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. Not that Umbrage really expected anything different. Timaeus was generally as cool as a cucumber. It made him a damn good archenemy, and Umbrage found himself sincerely hoping that he made a good decision today. Otherwise, these games would be over for good.

He enabled the audio capabilities of his control panel, allowing for two-way communication between his room and theirs. He cracked his knuckles, licking a scaly lip with his long, forked black tonuge. It was showtime.

"Hello Timaeus." After a pause, he added (in the most disdainful tone that he could muster), "And Golgotha. I want to play a game."

"Boy shitting howdy, Timaeus! It looks like we're in yet another of Umbrage's deathtraps!"

Timaeus, of course, didn't even flinch. "Great."

"Hey! Shut up! I have not even described this one. And so you have yet to understand. Just how fucking genius it is!"

"No, Mr. Undying, I think you're the one who needs to shut up! Cheese and fucking crackers, if I only knew where you were, I'd introduce you to my ten favorite boys!"

Before Umbrage could even get a word in edgewise, Timaeus snorted. "What?"

"You know, my fingers!"

" _What?_ "

"As in, I would punch him right in the kisser! Whoa nelly, Timaeus! What in the blue blazes did you think I meant?"

"Enough!" Umbrage roared into his microphone. "Idiot babbling infant hour. Is fucking over. And also? You are ruining my speech. So shut your goddamn faces!"

"What's the point? You're just going to copy it from _Saw_ again anyway, chum."

"You know, Golgotha, maybe we should at least hear what he has to say?"

"Timaeus, you can't be serious."

"Yes," purred Umbrage. "Listen to the superior hero. Who is actually a hero. And not just a worthless sidekick."

Golgotha grumbled, but settled his stupid little yellow-leotard-wearing ass into his chair.

"Anyway. As I was saying. Before I was so rudely interrupted. I want to play a game. Here is what happens. If you lose. There are devices installed throughout the room. That you are currently being held captive in. That will cause the walls to move forward. As well as the ceiling to move downwards. Making a smaller and smaller space. Until you are no longer able to move. And eventually crushing you together. Into a small cube of flesh. Much like a garbage compactor. Which is an ironic deathtrap! Becaue you are both garbage! But also. There is one way out of the room. And that is being controlled. By me. I will only unlock the door. When one of you wins my game. But this is a game. Where there can only be one winner. In a few moments. I will remotely release the restraints on your wrists. Under your seats. You will find your weapon of choice. I did not confiscate them. When only one of you is left alive. I will open the door. Oh. And do not think about performing any heroic acts of self suicide. If either of you tries that shit. I'm still crushing the survivor. So. Timaeus and Golgotha. Kill or be killed. Live. Or die together. Make your choice."

He cut off his own microphone, before deactivating the restraints and activating the deathtrap. He watched as the heroes rubbed their wrists, and grabbed a fistful of Swedish Fish as he leaned back in his chair. He prepared for the inevitable, tearful arguments, as the two of them would both surely valiantly declare that they'd die for the other. Ugh, it would be disgusting. He hated it. He hated them. 

What the fuck did Timaeus even see in such a shitty sidekick? Golgotha was way too old to pull that whole "boy-wonder" schtick, but his choice of outfit, useless powers, and insistance on being a sidekick made it pretty obvious that that was just the road he was on. Thoroughly unpleasant.

But then, that was really what this plan was all about. He knew that Timaeus had a Messiah complex. He was far too willing to put himself in harm's way for his friends. But this was do or die, the ultimate test. If he could be ruthless and cut down Golgotha, then he really was a worthy adversary, a truly ambitious anti-hero. If he let that fool kill him, though, then that would just prove that Umbrage was wasting his time on him. Good riddance. 

Fuck, he hoped Timaeus chose correctly.

Of course, Golgotha quickly put up one of those hideous banana-yellow force-fields. As if that would stop the walls. Besides, if the force-fields were strong enough the break the mechanisms, it would just bring down that part of the building on their heads. There was no getting out of this one, no matter what. Umbrage was sure of it.

Interestingly, both heroes reached for their weapons. Soon, Golgotha had reclaimed his energy pistol, and Timaeus' plasma blade was back in his hand, where it belonged.

"Gadzooks, Timaeus, I think he may actually have us this time! It's been a good run, old chap."

"You're giving up?"

"Well, I'm not about to unload a barrel into your noggin, Timaeus! I couldn't possibly do anything like that!"

"Hey, I wasn't about to ask you to."

Umbrage raised a brow at that, leaning forward and shoving more candies into his mouth. What a pleasant surprise! This was getting interesting.

"You... you weren't?"

"No. I have shit to do, and there is no way in hell I'm dying here."

"So you're going to kill me. Is that it? You know, I really thought that we had something special. Talk about treacheries of the heart!"

"I'm not going to kill you either, Golgotha."

"Oh. Sorry about jumping to conclusions there, chap. Then I guess we really are going to get smashed together in this cockamamie contraption. You know, Timaeus, there isn't another masked hero I'd rather die alongside."

"Seriously, Jake, cut the shit."

"...Dirk?"

Umbrage blinked. Did they really both just fuck up the whole not-revelaing-their-secret-identities thing? Holy shit.

"I don't know what's going on here, or what his deal is, or what _our_ deal is, but I'm really not myself today, and we have just enough time to think of a plan."

"You're not yourself? Then who in the devilfucking dickens are you?"

"I'm a different Dirk, from a different timeline. Come on, Jake, this is some sci-fi shit, you have to understand what I'm talking about."

"Timelines? All of those shenanigans go right over my poor, discombobulated noggin! I take it that this has something to do with Turntech, doesn't it? Or Apocalypse?"

"I would love to stay and explain this shit, but we really gotta go. We have to get out of here, and find that control room."

Golgotha tightened the stupid yellow bubble around them just a bit, as the walls advanced towards them.

"You keep this shield up, and I'll run. That works, right?"

"Gadzooks, you mean like in _The Incredibles_?"

"I guess? Just do it!"

Although the room had become far too small to actually dash across, Umbrage watched as the stupid yellow bubble darted around the chairs and towards the door, so quickly that the camera almost didn't pick it up. Upon hitting the door, the bubble kept spinning with incredible speed. On a barked command from Timaeus, Golgotha dropped the shield, and the plasma sword cut a seam in the half-melted door. One blast from the energy pistol, and the entire deathtrap was breached.

Umbrage growled, dashing his egg-timer and bag of Swedish Fish to the floor. He picked up his rifle, waiting for the dynamic duo to eventually find him.

He was mildly surprised, though, when he only heard one set of footsteps in the corridor.

When the door slid open, Timaeus was alone, the elaborate heart insignia on the chest of his skin-tight pink body suit glowing faintly in the dim light of the room.

"Well well well. It looks as if you. And your idiotic man boy partner. Have managed to defeat my little game. By cheating." He aimed his rifle directly at Timaeus, drawing himself up to loom over the hero. He knew it wouldn't really hurt him, not with that super-speed of his. He would just dodge the bullets. Still, it made him feel better to at least have some weapon at the ready.

To his surprise, though, Timaeus put his hands up. 

"I heard you. Talking to Golgotha. Your precious little Jake. Since you were foolish enough. To reveal his civilian name. Is it true. That you are not the real Timaeus?"

Timaeus pressed his lips together into a thin line, as if Umbrage's statement had caught him off-guard. "You were listening to all of that?"

"No shit. How the fuck else. Would I know about it?"

"Yeah, good point." Timaeus sighed, his usually-stoic expression just a little bit disappointed. "It's true. I'm not the real Timaeus. I'm just using his body for a little while."

"Why?"

Timaeus, or whoever this Dirk was, hesitated for a moment before pulling down his sharp, black visor, revealing the most gorgeous, amber-colored eyes that Umbrage had ever seen in his life. "I'm only telling you on one condition."

"Name your terms."

"That you don't freak out like the last few times I told you way more than I should have."

"What? When the fuck. Did that happen?"

"Promise."

"I do not scare easily. False Timaeus. Tell me your motivation."

"To talk to you."

Umbrage hesitated for a moment, lowering his rifle. "What?"

"Look, this is going to sound crazy, but you're not who you think you are, either. You're not this big, souped-up mutant bad guy, alright?"

"Yes I am. And I always fucking have been. Ever since that lab accident. Left me with scales. And claws. And a prosthetic leg."

"Okay, wow, I was not prepared for just how cliché that backstory was. But that really isn't the point right now. What I'm trying to say is that you're actually some teen alien kid from another universe. You're just trapped in this timeline right now, and you have the body and all of the memories of this alternate version of yourself."

"That doesn't even make any fucking sense!"

"Trust me, I know."

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"I need to bring you back."

Umbrage sneered at that. "What. Are you going to try to convince me. That we are friends. Or some bullshit like that?"

Timaeus just shrugged. "Yeah, we sort of are."

Umbrage threw back his head and laughed, raising his rifle again. "That is just a pathetic stalling ruse. To get me to surrender. And to stop being evil. Because you believe falsely. That I would not be willing. To hurt my 'friend.'"

"No, Caliborn, I'm serious."

He stopped laughing, narrowing his scarlet eyes into slits, baring his massive fangs. "How do you know. My secret identity?"

"Because we're friends. I told you, dude. Come on, you have to remember something. This is like the eighth time we've done this."

"Done what?"

"Me, jumping in to some random bullshit timeline to try to get you to remember who you are and drag your ass back home."

"Eight times?"

"Well, seven. This is the eighth."

"Seven times?"

"Yeah. There was that thing with the coffee shop and the high school, which it's probably honestly better if you don't remember, because I fucked them both up pretty badly. That's on me. Then there was the dragon thing, the weird arranged-marriage thing with you in drag, the gladiator thing, the snake thing, the zombie thing... Come on, don't tell me that none of those are ringing a bell?"

"The only bell that will be ringing. Is the church bell. At your funeral. To announce to the world. That another hero is dead!" Umbrage the Undying quickly fired two shots of his rifle, and to his complete and utter un-surprise, Timaeus dodged both of them.

"Come on, Caliborn, you promised you weren't going to freak out."

"I am not freaking out! I am just. Tired of your stalling games!"

"But I thought you loved playing games with me."

"I am the one. Who makes the games! I am the one. Who makes the rules!"

"You remember, don't you? All of this is hitting just a little too close to home. Maybe you thought it was a dream, or something that happened in a movie. But you remember me. You remember everything, I know you do!"

"Shut up!" he roared, taking a heavy step towards Timaeus, and swinging his rifle like a club at his head.

He could have sworn he saw him move for just a split second, and he really thought that he was just going to dodge it. Whether it was a mistake or a last-minute decision, though, Timaeus stood in place and took the blow, which sent him flying against the control panel. His plasma blade clattered against the floor as it slid to the far side of the room, unused. He sank to the floor, holding a hand to his head to check for bleeding.

"I promise I'm not stalling, Caliborn," he grunted, "I'm not trying to trick you. Everything's going to be alright."

"You're just waiting for your stupid sidekick to get here. To surprise me. And attack me. While I am busy talking to you."

Timaeus raised his eyebrow. "How would he attack you?"

"With one of those stupid yellow bubbles. And then you would hit me. With that pink shit that you do."

Timaeus just shook his head. "No. I sent Golgotha to get the police. After all, a superhero can't actually legally make an arrest. He'll bring them back here, but I know you have some back way out. You can escape. I'll tell them all that you subdued me and got away on your own, alright?"

"But--"

"That plan that you thought I had? You're wrong. That was a memory, a memory of something that happened to an alternate version of yourself. Still not the 'alpha' Caliborn, but the one that caused this whole shit show in the first place." Timaeus was quiet for a moment, before softly adding, "It was my fault, though. Not his."

Umbrage lowered his rifle again, just staring down at Timaeus and watching him closely. "You're actually. Trying to protect me?"

"Yeah. If this really is my 'last stand' and that wasn't just some corny-ass title, then I'm making it for you."

"Why? You are my archenemy."

Timaeus--no, Dirk--let out a breathless chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I am. But I'm also your friend."

"Those two things. Are completely fucking incompatible."

"Maybe in this universe, Caliborn." He put on a serious face before curling up into a ball on the floor, as if actively trying to make himself look as helpless and defeated as possible. "Now go. You probably don't have that much time left."

"Dirk..."

"Just go, Caliborn! I'll see you tomorrow. You have to remember!"

Umbrage nodded, rifle in hand as he grabbed his bag of candy, heading towards his secret trap-door to the tunnels under the city. He threw it open, climbing down into the darkness, but hesitated for just a moment before closing the door.

Reluctantly, and so quietly that he couldn't be sure that Dirk had even heard him, he hissed "Thank you," before disappearing into the depths.

It was true. It was all true, and he knew it. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. He could remember the things that Dirk had described to him, but he knew that none of them were real. None of them were the real him, and he couldn't remember that Caliborn at all. Who the fuck was he?

He would remember. He promised himself that he would remember.

Wait, hadn't he already done that?

Whatever. He promised himself even harder. He would stay determined, no matter what. No matter how many lifetimes he had to live, he would remember. As long as he was himself, he knew that he'd be the strongest, most determined person in the world, in _any_ world, in all of Paradox Space (whatever that even meant). At least, he believed it with all his heart. He wanted it, and as far as he was concerned, that made it just that much more irrefutable.


	9. Act Six Remix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is this my timeline? Wait, no, it can't be. Where the fuck did all of these pumpkins come from? Why the fenestrated planes? Is this Roxy's scarf? Oh, hang on, I'm getting a Pesterchum notification."

uprisingUnlikely [uu] began cheering torridTechnician [TT]  
uu: OH. THERE YOu ARE. DIRK HuMAN.  
uu: I HAVE BEEN ATTEMPTING. TO CONTACT YOu. BuT YOu HAVE BEEN BuSY.  
uu: SORRY.  
TT: You've been trying to contact me?  
uu: YES.  
uu: I AM SuPPOSED TO BE CHECKING ON YOu. ABOuT THE GAME.  
TT: "Supposed to be?"  
uu: SHE WOuLD HAVE CONTACTED YOu HER SELF.   
uu: BuT SHE HAS BEEN TOO BuSY. JEERING THE ROXY HuMAN.   
uu: AND ALSO. uHH.  
uu: I LIKE TO TALK TO YOu. SOMETIMES.  
TT: Wait, are you seriously implying that you're contacting me because your sister told you to?  
TT: Why are you taking orders from her?  
uu: YOu KNOW WHY.  
TT: Sorry, dude. You're going to have to refresh my memory, here.  
uu: IF I MAKE HER ANGRY. BY NOT DOING HER PLANS. AND BY NOT LISTENING TO HER. WHEN SHE IS BEING SMART.   
uu: SHE WILL KILL ME.  
TT: Yeah, I get that part.  
TT: I just don't understand why you're actually following orders. That doesn't seem right.  
TT: Don't you hate her more than anything?  
uu: YES.  
uu: BuT SHE TERRIFIES ME.  
uu: I KNOW THAT SHE CAN KILL ME. BECAuSE SHE IS SMARTER THAN I AM.  
uu: I AM STRONGER THAN HER. PROBABLY.  
uu: BuT THAT IS uNIMPORTANT.  
uu: SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING. ABOuT THIS GAME. AND PARADOX SPACE.  
uu: AND ANYTHING THAT SHE DOES NOT KNOW. THE CLOuDS ON PROSPIT TELL HER.  
uu: SO. BASICALLY. THE SITuATION. HAS NO HOPES.  
uu: I DO WHAT SHE SAYS. AND I SuRVIVE.  
TT: This is just sad.  
uu: DIRK HuMAN?  
TT: This isn't you. This doesn't sound anything like you.  
TT: This is like that "Opposite Day" bullshit you see in ancient cartoons sometimes.   
TT: You're tough, you're clever, and you don't give a damn what your sister says. I mean, that's how it's supposed to be.  
uu: WELL. I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY ANYTHING.  
uu: BECAuSE. I ALSO DID NOT WANT FOR YOu. TO GET ANGERED WITH ME.  
uu: BuT YOu ALSO SOuND LIKE. NOT DIRK.  
TT: What?  
uu: YOuR LETTERS ARE CORRECT. PINK. ALL OF THE BIG AND SMALL LETTERS. EXACTLY WHERE YOu PuT THEM. WHEN YOu ARE NORMAL DIRK.  
uu: BuT YOu ARE LESS.  
uu: uHH.   
uu: I DON'T KNOW THE WORD.  
TT: Just pick one. Even if it's the wrong one, that's actually kind of endearing.  
TT: I've always thought so, if I'm being completely honest here.  
uu: I GuESS.  
uu: *CuTE?*  
TT: What the fuck?  
uu: YOu ARE NOT EXCITED. OR uSING THE WEIRD LETTERS. THAT ARE NOT WORDS. BuT MEAN EMOTIONS.  
uu: LIKE YOuR HuMAN *LOL.*  
uu: YOu ALMOST SOuND. LIKE THE ROXY HuMAN. WHEN YOu TALK. IN THE WAY THAT YOu ARE NOW INSTEAD TALKING.  
TT: You know, after some of the bullshit I've seen, I didn't think it was possible.  
TT: But I think that I've managed to find the worst possible timeline in all of Paradox Space.  
uu: uHH.  
uu: WHAT?  
TT: Come on, uu. You're the Lord of Time.  
TT: You must have noticed that this shit isn't working quite the way it's supposed to by now.  
uu: I AM NOT.  
TT: You are.  
TT: No, he isn't? Wtf?  
uu: OH. THANK YOu FALSE SCARF MAN.  
TT: Anytime, bby. ;)  
TT: Okay, I don't know what's worse.  
TT: The fact that you don't even know your own classpect, or the fact that this universe's version of Hal is apparently some kind of demented fuckboy scarf.  
TT: Wow, okay, first of all, how dare you?  
TT: Since I am actually literally you?  
TT: No. Fuck no.  
TT: We are not starting this shit today.   
TT: Hal, this is serious. I need to talk to uu, alright?  
TT: Yeah, whatever.  
TT: Just continue to ignore me, since I'm like, y'know, not even a real meat boy or anything anyway. ://///  
uu: DIRK. HE WAS ONLY TRYING. TO BE KIND AND HELPFuL.  
uu: AND ALSO. TO ASSIST ME IN TELLING YOu.  
uu: THAT I AM THE LORD OF SPACE.  
uu: I AM SORRY. IF THAT IS DISAPPOINTING.  
TT: Then what am I?  
uu: I. uHH.  
uu: I DON'T REMEMBER.  
uu: *SHE* IS THE ONE. WHO KEEPS TRACK OF THAT SHIT.  
uu: YOu ARE THE. uHH. KING OF SOMETHING?  
uu: OR MAYBE. THE KING OF NOTHING?  
TT: Prince of Void?  
uu: YES! THAT WAS THE THING!  
TT: Although, technically, you were also right, uu, lmao.   
TT: I think that he is definitely the king of nothing. :3c  
TT: Would both of you seriously just shut the fuck up for like, two seconds?  
TT: Look, the point that I was trying to make before the one-man asshole brigade barged in to completely derail the conversation was that you're not who you think you are.  
TT: I'm not who you think I am either.  
TT: Actually, the only one here who's even remotely who he's actually supposed to be is Hal, unfortunately.  
TT: Rofl, there will be no disagreements from a certain scarf.  
TT: Being me is p damn unfortunate, ngl.  
uu: IF YOu ARE NOT THE DIRK HuMAN.  
uu: THEN.  
uu: WHO ARE YOu?  
TT: Figure it out, uu. I've already given you plenty of hints.  
uu: I'M SORRY. I CAN'T.  
uu: I WANT TO. BuT I CAN'T.  
TT: Why not?  
uu: I'M TOO STuPID.  
TT: No.  
TT: No, fuck this shit.  
TT: We're not doing this shit today, Caliborn.  
TT: :O  
uu: ...  
uu: YOu. uHH.  
uu: YOu SHOuLDN'T KNOW MY NAME.  
uu: I HAVE BEEN GOOD.  
uu: I HAVE NEVER BROKEN ANY RuLES.  
uu: I AM PLAYING THE GAME. THE RIGHT WAY.  
uu: SO.  
uu: WHY DO YOu KNOW MY NAME?  
TT: I don't know. You tell me.  
uu: I MEAN.  
uu: I. uHH.  
uu: THERE ARE ONLY TWO PEOPLE. WHO ARE SuPPOSED TO KNOW MY NAME.  
uu: AND SINCE ANYONE ELSE LEARNING IT. WOuLD PuT THE OTHER ONE. AT A SIGNIFICANT DISADVANTAGE.  
uu: *SHE* WOuLD NOT TELL ANYONE.  
uu: AND *COuLD* NOT TELL ANYONE. WITHOuT ME KNOWING. BECAuSE OF.  
uu: uHH.  
uu: REASONS.  
uu: SO. I GuESS I MuST HAVE TOLD YOu.  
uu: EXCEPT THAT I DID NOT.  
TT: Come on, uu. You're so close.  
uu: ALTHOuGH.  
uu: I GuESS. uHH. YOu COuLD BE.  
uu: uHH.  
uu: NEVER MIND.  
uu: IT'S STuPID.  
TT: I promise you, it's not.  
TT: Hell, you're probably right.  
uu: YOu'LL LAuGH AT ME.  
TT: I won't.  
uu: WELL. OKAY.  
uu: YOu ARE THE DIRK HuMAN.  
uu: BuT YOu ARE A DIRK HuMAN. FROM A DIFFERENT TIME LINE.  
uu: WHERE EVERYONE IS BuSY BEING THE WRONG PERSON.  
uu: LIKE.  
uu: YOu ARE THE ROXY HuMAN.  
TT: I told you you were close.  
TT: Actually, the only thing wrong with what you just said was that, technically, from my perspective, you're the ones who are "busy being the wrong person."  
TT: But that's just my own bias, I guess.  
uu: I WAS.  
uu: RIGHT?  
TT: You're clever, Caliborn. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  
uu: MAYBE YOuR uu IS CLEVER. BuT MINE. WHO IS ME. IS AN IDIOT.  
TT: I'm not going to pretend to know what this timeline's Caliborn is like, but I have a shitty twist for you. In fact, I've already hinted at what it is.  
TT: I think you already know, and that you're just not saying anything because you're not ready to accept it.  
TT: And trust me, I get that.  
TT: But you're not really this timeline's Caliborn, either.  
TT: You have his memories, which I guess is why you've absorbed his personality.  
TT: But you are actually my Caliborn.  
TT: *Wink.*  
TT: Hal, no.  
TT: Hal, yes.   
uu: WHAT IS YOuR uu LIKE?  
TT: Well, I guess he's actually sort of an asshole.  
uu: THEN. I DON'T WANT TO BE HIM.  
TT: But he's more than that. He's stubborn as hell, too.  
TT: Although I guess it's probably better to call that "determination," huh?  
TT: Hell, maybe that's more accurate.  
TT: He doesn't let anything get between him and getting what he wants.   
TT: He would never sit around in fear of what might happen to him, and he isn't even slightly afraid of his sister.  
TT: Actually, he was the one that killed her.  
TT: I guess that's not really a good thing, but I know it's a necessity for your species. Besides, I knew about it, and I sort of helped. So I guess I can't actually say anything about the morality of the issue at hand.  
TT: He's clever, he's smart, he's brave.  
TT: I've seen more evidence of all of that in the last eight days than I ever thought I would.  
TT: I mean, I've seen a lot of him being kind of a dick, too, don't get me wrong.  
TT: But he can be kind of gentle, too. When he wants to be, anyway, which isn't that often.  
TT: It's... really surprising, actually.  
uu: WOW. HE SOuNDS. REALLY DIFFERENT. THAN HOW I AM.  
TT: But you are him, uu.  
TT: It sounds to me like you like him, Dirky.  
TT: I do. We're friends.  
TT: Oh, wait, I'm sorry.  
TT: It would seem that my tone was not conveyed by my super robotic way of typing, lol.  
TT: It sounds to me like you like, really really like him, Dirky. :////  
TT: Hal, stop talking.  
TT: Also, what is that face supposed to mean?  
TT: You're even worse than the real Dirk! Omg, you had better not fuck up Operation Crocker.  
TT: This conversation has nothing to do with you, Hal.  
uu: PLEASE STOP. FALSE SCARF MAN.  
TT: Okie bby, but only because you asked so nicely.  
uu: IF I REALLY AM THE *ME.* THAT YOu ARE SAYING THAT I AM.  
uu: AND I GuESS THAT IT'S POSSIBLE. BECAuSE I DON'T uNDERSTAND THIS SHIT AT ALL.  
uu: AND I AM CONFuSED?  
uu: BuT.  
uu: YOu ARE ALSO CLEVER. DIRK HuMAN.  
uu: AND I TRuST YOu.  
uu: BuT.  
uu: IF I REALLY AM *THAT* ME.  
uu: THEN HOW DO I STOP BEING THE FALSE ME.  
uu: AND START RESuMING TO BE. THE ME THAT IS *ME?*  
TT: You have to remember.  
uu: REMEMBER WHAT?  
TT: Who you really are.  
uu: I PROMISED THAT I WOuLD.  
uu: AND. IF YOu BELIEVE THAT I CAN BE STRONG.  
uu: AND TOuGH.  
uu: AND DETERMINED.  
uu: AND ALL OF THOSE THINGS. THAT THE REAL ME IS.  
uu: THEN MAYBE I AM. DEEP DOWN. ALL OF THOSE THINGS.  
uu: AND IF I WANT IT TO BE THAT WAY. THEN.  
TT: Then?  
uu: I GuESS.  
uu: THAT MAKES IS SLIGHTLY MORE IRREFuTABLE.  
TT: Do you remember saying that? Or something a lot like that?  
uu: I REMEMBER. THAT YOu DID.  
TT: Well, I guess that's something, at least.  
uu: uHH. I DON'T HAVE MuCH TIME. I NEED TO GO. DO A THING.  
uu: BuT. BEFORE I GO. I DID REMEMBER. ONE MORE THING.  
uu: OR. uHH. I THINK THAT I REMEMBER? MAYBE IT WAS JuST. SOMETHING I MADE uP.  
TT: What is it?  
uu: IT'S. uHH. REALLY RuDE.  
uu: DO YOu PROMISE. THAT YOu WON'T HATE ME. IF I AM RuDE TO YOu. JuST A LITTLE?  
TT: Honestly, dude? I would prefer it if you were a little rude to me. This polite schtick is freaking me out.  
uu: OH. SORRY.  
TT: Dammit, stop apologizing!  
uu: SORRY.  
uu: OR. uHH. I MEAN. THAT I AM NOT SORRY.  
TT: Well, I guess you get points for effort, anyway.  
TT: Some kind of participation award, maybe.  
TT: Are you going to show me the thing that you remembered?  
uu: OH. ALRIGHT.  
uu: IT'S. uHH. IT'S JuST THIS.  
uu: tumut  
uprisingUnlikely [uu]  ceased cheering torridTechnician [TT]


	10. Dark Desires: A Contract of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It took me long enough, but I think I understand the rules of this game. Of course it's a game. It always is with us, isn't it? This shit ends here. I'll bring you back home, and this time, I know exactly how to do it."

Caliborn heard his name, and that was that.

There wasn't any time to finish his hand of cards, and there sure as fuck wasn't time to offer an adequate explanation to Meenah. He knew that she'd quickly realize what happened and head back to her lake, ready to catch and drown more foolish wanderers who believed that no evil spirits could haunt the earth in this day and age. Humans had short memories, after all.

Of course, this was good. If he was being summoned, he'd be able to stake a claim on yet another soul. By the end of the century, he was determined to claim more humans than Meenah and win their little wager, which would prove once and for all who was the superior demon. Sure, it was all in good fun, but they did have a pretty sweet piece of real estate in the Outer Ring of the Seventh Circle riding on it. What the fuck would Meenah even do with such a choice view of the boiling blood river? Absolutely nothing, since she spent most of her time in the mortal realm. He deserved to win, and they both knew it.

Now, though, he needed to focus on the matter at hand. He had only seconds to probe this human's memory and decide on a form to take. It would have been a terrible business decision to appear in his true form as a fallen angel. The whole "being of pure light" thing had a tendency to make humans panic, and it was impossible to talk contracts and demonic legalese with some hysterical meatbag. No, it was more-or-less company policy to assess how the individual human imagined that their summoned demon of choice would appear, and to materialize in the circle in that exact shape.

It was a boring form, though, really. No wings or extra limbs or anything. This stupid piece of shit wanted him to appear almost human, with grey skin, a mop of dark hair, and a pair of long, goat-like orange horns on the top of his head. The red eyes and sharp teeth, though, he could live with, and the outfit with the bow-tie and suspenders combo was actually kind of cute. The little red swirl patterns on his cheeks were a nice touch, too, if he was being honest.

He appeared in a flash of red light, exactly in the center of the summoning circle. He quickly glanced around at his surroundings. It wasn't anything too interesting, like a cathedral or an alchemist's lab. No, the times when summonings were done in such aesthetically pleasing locations was over and done. It was yet another basement, with generic cardboard boxes heaped to the ceiling. The swords on the walls were definitely an interesting choice, though.

The summoner was sitting by the edge of the circle, his face almost completely unreadable. Part of the reason for that, of course, was the thick pair of ridiculous sunglasses that he was wearing. His thick, tightly-coiled hair was pulled into dreadlocks, which were in turn pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head, creating a distinctive and oddly-vertical hairstyle, all orange except for the dark roots.

It was weird, though, just how casual he looked, resting his elbows on his knees and watching the circle, his eyebrows raising just slightly from behind the dark glasses. Perhaps most frustratingly of all, he didn't even have a grimoire open. Hell, Caliborn didn't see one anywhere around. How the fuck did he know how to perform the ritual?

"I don't know what I was expecting a demon to look like, but it sure wasn't that."

Caliborn was taken aback. He sure wasn't expecting this obnoxiously-informal summoner to say something like that, much less before he could even start the spiel about the contract.

"Bullshit. This is the form. That you expected me to have. You stupid shit. I can see your memories."

The summoner was silent for a long moment before shrugging. "I don't know, man. The only drawing I've seen was shit. I know you don't actually look like that, but I guess it was the closest thing in mind." Caliborn didn't even have time to respond before the young man added, "And anyway, are you seriously telling me that you've already read my memories?"

"Only the things. That were relevant. I don't fucking care. About your shitty human memories. I am only here. To make a contract with you."

The summoner just nodded. "So, let me guess. You'll give me whatever I want, no matter how ludicrous it is, in exchange for my soul or something?"

"Correct." Caliborn grinned widely. Now that they were talking contracts, it was time to appraise the soul of the prospective client. It wouldn't do to have some asshole promise his soul to multiple demons, after all. He quickly double-checked the young man's soul to make sure that it was valid payment.

Suddenly, he felt a horrible, cold feeling on the back of his neck. It wasn't the dark, abyssal soulless-ness of a spoken-for human. No, this was something different. This was a soul that was completely and utterly unaccounted for. Somewhere, lying dormant in the human's body, there was a viable soul. However, that wasn't the person that he was speaking to.

"Wait. No. Not correct." Caliborn bared his teeth, taking a step towards the edge of the circle. He couldn't cross the barrier, but he could at least make himself look threatening, despite how small and unimpresive this form was. "What the fuck are you?"

The summoner looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Your soul is unaccounted for. You are possessing this body. You cannot be a ghost. Because you would still be on the record. As having lived. And you are not a demon. Because I have never seen you before. And I have been around. Since the fucking War. So I would know if you were one of us." Caliborn narrowed his eyes. "What are you?"

"Damn, I didn't know you'd be able to tell," mumbled the summoner, looking mildly impressed. "Alright, you got me. I'm from another dimension. I'm not from this reality at all."

Caliborn groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Do you have any fucking idea. How much goddamn paper work. I am going to have to fill out. About this shit? You are not supposed to be here. And cannot enter Heaven or Hell. Your soul is foreign currency."

"But I'm an alternate version of the person whose body I've hijacked. I'm literally Dirk Strider."

Caliborn quickly scanned the sleeping soul in the possessed body. Sure enough, that was Dirk Strider, a perfectly normal human. His soul would have been absolutely ripe for the taking, Caliborn thought. "So?"

"So, can't I just pay with his soul?"

"You would sacrifice the soul. Of another version of yourself. To obtain your darkest desire?" Caliborn raised an eyebrow. This was unprecedented. This was unethical. This was sick and wrong. He loved it.

Besides, as far as he knew, there was nothing against it in the rules.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," said the summoner with a shrug.

"Why the fuck. Have you come to this reality?"

"To summon you."

Caliborn blinked, watching the summoner carefully. If he wouldn't stand, then Caliborn would just have to sit down. He crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees. "I don't know how the fuck you got here. Or how you learned my true name. To summon me. Since you don't even have a fucking grimoire. But. Since you have found an unsuspecting puppet. To pick up your tab. I guess I have no choice. But to offer you a contract."

The summoner looked down at his own hands for a moment, before nodding. "Good."

"What is it that you desire. Enough to sacrifice the soul. Of this poor unwilling pawn? Power? Wealth? Revenge?" How exactly he'd give this idiot any of those things in a reality that wasn't even his own, Caliborn wasn't sure. Oh well. That was his problem.

"None of the above," said the summoner, shaking his head.

"Well?"

"I'm looking for a friend."

Caliborn threw back his head and laughed, a loud, barking laugh. "Friendship? I suppose you can afford. To waste your contract. On a stupid wish. Since you are not the one. Who will be paying for it."

"Trust me, if I was just trying to find him, I wouldn't have come to you." He paused before adding, "And I sure as hell wouldn't be sacrificing this Dirk's soul. If he's me, though, I'm sure he'd understand. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get the things you want. That's just how it goes."

"Then what the fuck is it. That you are willing to make a contract for?"

The summoner was silent for a long moment, before leaning back slightly, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to say. When he finally opened his mouth, the words came out very quietly. "I've been jumping from reality to reality for more than a week. It's exhausting. I find him every single time, and I know we're making progress, but I don't know how the fuck I'm going to bring him back."

"I have nearly infinite power. In this universe," said Caliborn, his tone just slightly defensive. "But absolutely no one. Not even the Great Enemy. Has power outside of it. Your shit. Is out of my jurisdiction."

"Just hear me out here, alright?" 

Caliborn let out a deep, frustrated sigh, but said nothing. He was a captive audience, unfortunately, at the beck and call of his potential client. At least he wasn't one of those stupid pricks who made terrible wishes for the servitude of demon butlers. That would have been completely unacceptable. This contract would likely be a once-and-done deal.

"I didn't appreciate him. I know I didn't. I've always been bad at that kind of thing. Seriously, any of my friends would tell you the same thing. I'm kind of shitty, alright? I just went looking for him because I'm the one who got him into this whole mess. It just felt like something that had to be my responsibility. It was my problem, so I wanted to be the one to fix it. Besides, I was the only one who could."

The summoner began toying with the small, black leather gloves on his hands, the weird, triangular sunglasses slipping down his nose slightly. Caliborn could see that his eyes were bright amber, an unusual color for a human. It was a familar color, a warm and inviting color, a color that almost made him feel a brief reprieve from the feelings of endless emptiness and solitude that were always at the back of a demon's mind. It was a color like being Home again, before the War.

Not that he missed it or anything. Hell no.

"But in every universe, I met him again and again." Oh, right, he was still talking. Caliborn shook away his unwelcome thoughts and tried his best to pay attention. "He was different every time, but he was also the same. I saw so many things that he could have been, so many things that he could still be. I saw parts of him that I don't think he ever would have shown me back in our timeline. I don't just want to bring him back because I have to anymore. I want to bring him back because--"

"You're in human love with him?" Caliborn quickly interrupted, his tone bored. The summoner's gorgeous eyes meant nothing. He was still just some stupid human. He was like an insignificant mayfly, as far as Caliborn was concerned, and his unknowing victim would add nicely to Caliborn's final score in the wager against Meenah. It was best, he decided, to get this over with as soon as possible.

The summoner was silent for a long moment, before shrugging. "Human love is a complicated subject, Caliborn. Robotics is easy. Hell, rocket science is easy. Human love is fucking hard. I've fucked it up before, and I'm sure I'll do it again. So I guess all I can say for sure is that it's too early to say for sure."

"Is that what this long-winded bullshit. Is fucking about? Is it seriously. One of _these_ fucking contracts? You fell in love. With some reality hopping asshole. And you want for your disgusting human romance. To come true. And for him to reciprocate. Your hard and shitty feelings?"

"No. Even if you can force him to feel that way, I would never forgive myself if I used this contract for something like that."

"Then what the fuck is it?"

The summoner took a deep breath, as if thinking over exactly how he wanted to word his end of the contract. Caliborn was mildly impressed. This was the hardest part of the whole demon-summoning process. It was also the part that so many humans fucked up, that allowed him to take their souls while also screwing over their wish. It was always amusing, seeing the loopholes that they allowed.

"I need you to bind us together somehow, so I can't lose him again."

"What?"

"I've been trying to get him out of this stupid loop he's stuck in by jogging his memories, and I think it's working. But I think I've figured out the logic here, and if I'm following it correctly, then this should actually be the last piece of the puzzle."

"The shit that you are saying. Doesn't make any fucking sense."

"I don't care what you call it, or how you do it, or how it ends up working. I mean, I guess as long as we don't end up as some kind of fucked-up abomination like Erisol or dear, sweet, precious Fefeta." He furrowed his brows for a moment, as if not entirely sure exactly who or what he was talking about, either. "Anything that involves not having seperate bodies is pretty much out. He's sort of been though enough of that particular brand of bullshit already."

Caliborn furrowed his brows, listening carefully. The summoner clearly didn't have any plans to cut the bullshit anytime soon, so he'd have to work with that incredibly vague description. "You want me. To bind your soul. To his?"

"Yeah. Some 'red string of fate' crap would be great, if you can swing it."

"That is probably. The stupidest wish. That I have ever heard."

"Trust me, it'll work."

"What makes you so goddamn sure?"

The summoner adjusted his sunglasses again, a small smirk on his lips. Caliborn had a bad feeling that he was in for a really dramatic speech, complete with nonsensical bullshit. "You know, in my reality, they call me the Prince of Heart, the Destroyer of Souls. You might be a powerful demon, but trust me, this stupid, corny soul business is my specialty. I know what I'm talking about. That's how I'm going to bring him home. That was always how it was supposed to work, I think. Memories are some other kind of thing. Mind, maybe. But souls are _my_ jurisdiction. I am Dirk-devilfucking-Strider, and for my contract, I need you to tie my existence to his."

Caliborn made his best effort to look unimpressed. "That's all well and good. Except. I can't do shit. Until you give me his name."

Dirk looked mildly sheepish, as if fully aware that his dramatic speech wasn't as effective as it could have been. "Right."

"His true name. No pseudonyms. No nicknames. Just his true name. Which has power." Caliborn quickly added, "And also. It will only work. If he is here. In this reality."

"He is, trust me." 

"Speak the true name. Of your target."

"Caliborn."

Caliborn just sat completely still in the center of the circle for a long moment, utterly dumbstruck. The summoner's declaration sent shivers up his spine. " _What!?_ "

"You knew that I wasn't the Dirk Strider from this reality, didn't you? Why don't you use your magic demon-senses or whatever on yourself and take a good hard look?"

It was preposterous. Completely preposterous. He had no reason to check himself. He knew who he was. He was Caliborn, former cherub, fallen angel, and unimaginably ancient demon. He always had been.

Still, the summoner spoke with such conviction. It couldn't hurt to take a peek.

Inside of his noncorporeal body, there were two souls. One was sleeping. Caliborn. The fallen cherub.

He, himself, was posessing this body, and all of its powers, and the memories of its true owner. He was just as strange and foreign to this universe as the man who'd summoned him had been.

The summoner's voice cut through the horrible ringing in his ears, the shock that made him feel almost faint. "You saw it, didn't you?"

"Shut up."

"You're some kind of alien here too, aren't you? Just like me."

He wanted to lash out at the man, to strike him down, but he couldn't. The circle held him back. Besides, he didn't want to. Dirk had said before that he wouldn't hold back the next time they had a chance to fight to the death. He could have cut him down with his plasma sword only two days later. But he didn't. 

What? What the fuck were any of those memories?

"You're remembering, Caliborn, I know you are. You have to remember, that's important. But not right now, okay? You have the power to make the contract. You have to focus on that, right now. Hurry up and bind us together!"

"What will happen. To us?"

"I'll see you again tomorrow, and I'll bring you home once and for all."

"What will happen. To this us?"

Dirk didn't respond for a long moment. "It doesn't matter."

Caliborn nodded and pressed his hand toward Dirk, his palm tingling with burning pain as he touched the edge of the summoning circle. "Take my hand."

Dirk passed easily through the barrier, joining his hand to Caliborn's.

"The contract is sealed."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Caliborn felt a sharp, electric pulse coursing from his hand and into the center of his being. He could see tendrils of light, pink and red, spreading across Dirk's skin, the man's face turning into a grimace of pain. It hurt Caliborn, too. Fuck, it hurt. He gritted his sharp teeth, digging his yellow-orange nails into the back of Dirk's hand. Dirk's own ineffective human fingers returned the favor, digging deeply enough into the grey skin to leave little welts.

Did he fuck up? Was this against the rules? What the fuck was even happening?

Caliborn never knew.

Everything went dark.


	11. Synchronicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alright, this is it. Lucky number eleven. Can't say I'm surprised, come to think of it. Game over, Caliborn. I'm taking you home the moment I find you. I don't give a shit about the rules of this timeline. We've waited long enough. Where doing it, man. Where making this hapen."

Caliborn Makara was running out of time.

He knew that it was just how things were. It happened to everyone eventually. Hell, it had already happened to his older brother. Somehow, though, he never really imagined it happening to him. Even though his timer had always been set on the lower end of average, it still seemed fucked up to him.

He wanted to stay at home and bury himself under the covers. Maybe he could fight fate that way. Even if that wasn't how it worked, maybe, just maybe, the universe would make an exception for him.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. He'd preordered a copy of Fallout 4, and there was no way in hell he was about to miss the midnight release. He wasn't exactly looking forward to the crowds, but there was something exciting about being one of the first people to get his hands on a physical copy of a game, especially one he was looking forward to. Now that he had time to actually evaluate his quickly-draining timer, however, he realized that it would hit zero at exactly 12:30 am. He doubted that he'd be home by then, and depening on the line, he'd still be in Gamestop, an easily-accessible public place. Fuck.

Of course, he did have one trick up his sleeve. He'd just have to get there early. If he got there at 11, he could be one of the first in line, and then maybe he'd be out in enough time that he could be in the car and on his way home by 12:30. If he moved quickly, he wouldn't run into anyone.

He boasted about the plan over the dinner table that night, and his siblings just listened closely. He should have predicted their reactions, though. Gamzee just blinked slowly, as if trying to piece together Caliborn's logic. "I guess it's possible, Calibro. Anything's motherfucking possible."

"It isn't, though," said Calliope, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter where you are, love. That isn't how fate works. They'll find you, and you'll meet them regardless. That's simply how it's meant to be."

Gamzee flashed the back of his hand, as if trying to make a point. Where most young people still had a timer, glowing faintly like little lights embedded under the skin, Gamzee had something different: a stylized clown face in a shade of purple that matched his eyes, entwined in a pattern of soft green vines (although, in Caliborn's opinion, they looked more like tentacles than vines). "I all up and met Janey because I accidentally went into the wrong motherfucking bathroom at McDonald's. This shit is wicked random. Motherfucking miracles, little bro. Maybe you just need to all up and wander where your heart does say you need to be going."

"Great advice," Caliborn scoffed, "If you want to end up with a soul mate. As fucking terrible as that bitch Crocker."

"Not cool, Calibro." Gamzee said, giving a slightly disapproving frown.

"Jane is a lovely person!" added Calliope. "Besides, you don't choose your soul mate, brother dear. It just always works out. How exactly it works is a mystery, but we should certainly be grateful that it does!"

"Easy for you to say," he growled, shoving meatloaf into his mouth. "Your timer. Still has three fucking years on it."

Calliope gave him a withering glance before turning back to Gamzee. "Weren't you just saying the other day that you know someone else who also has a low timer?"

Gamzee nodded slowly. "Oh yeah, it must have straight up slipped my mind and shit. It's Janey's best friend, the one with the hair that all up and looks like a motherfucking hedgehog." Gamzee stopped speaking, his eyes slowly widening as if he'd just thought of something that blew his mind. "Whoa..."

"What?" Caliborn furrowed his brows.

"Miracles," whispered Gamzee, before taking another bite of his meatloaf.

"A hedgehog, you say?" said Calliope, a small, teasing smile on her lips.

"No. My soul mate. Is not going to be. Some fucking Sonic meme garbage," Caliborn protested. "In fact. I don't even want to fucking have. A goddamn soul mate!"

"If it's any consolation," his twin sister continued, "At least the fact that your timer will likely run out in Gamestop would seem to suggest that you have an interest in common with them. You'll likely have a good deal to talk about!"

"I hate talking to people. They're all fucking stupid. And I hate them."

"Even us?" said Gamzee, as if he was seriously expecting a different answer than usual.

"Especially you," he said, shooting a glare at his brother. Gamzee just frowned again, and Caliborn leaned back in his chair.

Calliope sighed, shaking her head. "In any case, you know that we're both here for you. If you'd like us to accompany you on your date with destiny, we'll be more than happy to do so."

"Why the fuck. Would I want that?"

"That wicked moral support, brother," Gamzee replied.

"Exactly right! And besides, you already asked Gamzee to drive you to the mall. He's going to be right there regardless."

Caliborn rolled his eyes, jamming the rest of his meatloaf in his mouth. "Okay. So that explains him. But why the fuck do you think. That I want _you_ there?"

Calliope didn't respond for a long moment. Ultimately, she just shrugged, anxiously tucking a strand of bleached-white hair behind her ear. "I suppose I just have a difficult time imagining not being there. We are twins, after all. While I'm certainly not about to claim that you aren't an absolute bloody prick more often than not, you're still important to me."

Caliborn turned pink, furrowing his brows and frowning. Why did she always have to be so embarrassing? Sure, they were identical twins. Sure, she'd been there for him through a lot of rough shit. That didn't change the fact that she could be the most passive-aggressive person on the planet, or that Caliborn hated giving her any kind of satisfaction at all. If he gave into her now, he'd never hear the end of it. "The feeling. Is not mutual. And you can fuck off," he growled.

She stared hard at him for a long moment, before simply nodding, picking up her plate and standing up from the table.

"Callie?" Gamzee sounded legitimately concerned. Caliborn didn't look directly at either of them. Was she legitimately upset? It was stupid. She honestly shouldn't have been surprised. He said shit like that to her all of the time, and she usually just brushed it off.

"I need to finish that painting I've been working on. It may take quite a while. Goodnight." She spoke quickly, quietly, as she left her plate in the sink and hurried to her room, her face pale.

Caliborn sat across the table from Gamzee in almost complete silence for a long moment. "You know something, Calibro?" Gamzee said slowly. "I think she was being straight up serious. She's just saying what feels right at where her heart's all up in."

He didn't respond, just pushing the mashed potatoes around on his plate. Normally, making Calliope upset would have been the funniest thing in the world. It was immensely satisfying, like taking a piece in chess. She'd always been a relatively difficult enemy to score points on, so when he actually hit home with a particularly nasty jab or abrasive comment, it felt like a small victory, and more than suitable revenge for her own bullshit.

Tonight, though, it just didn't have the same spark as usual. Maybe he was just feeling apprehensive about meeting his soul mate. Still, when Calliope had stormed off, he couldn't help but feel as though there was a finality in the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut, as if something was irrevocably changed between them.

Again and again, he'd lost her. She'd died. He'd killed her himself. It was a weight off of his chest, a burden off of his back, a chain off of his ankle. But there was an emptiness there, too. The feeling of something missing, like the melancholy of the hole that was left after tearing out a baby tooth.

What the fuck was that? Caliborn wasn't interested in poetic nonsense. The metaphors that came to mind felt apt, though, in ways he couldn't describe. Maybe he'd had some pretty fucked up dreams the night before.

Stupid soul mate bullshit. It really was fucking with his mind.

"Maybe I will talk to her later," he mumbled. "If I am feeling. Particularly beneviolent."

"You got to show some faith in people, bro. Especially all the ones who're being to look out for you."

"Spare me the fucking lecture." He reached for his suspender straps, tugging anxiously at the fabric. Almost immediately, he saw his brother's eyes trail downwards toward the back of his hand. "What?"

"Ummm, okay, well... I am pretty motherfucking terrible at math. Them numbers be all up and rattling my think-pan. But unless I am all up and being worried my ass about nothing, then your timer is wicked incorrect, brother."

Caliborn quickly looked at the back of his hand. 3 hours to go. He wasn't the best at mental math either, but he'd always had an uncanny affinity for times and dates. If his timer was correct (and they always, always were), then that would put his fateful encounter at exactly 12:15, fifteen minutes earlier than it had always been before. 

"What the fuck?" His eyes widened, the fingers of his unmarked hand moving frantically against the thick fabric of his suspender strap. "It must be moving faster. Or something. Is that even a thing. That can fucking happen? Because that doesn't sound. Like a fucking thing. That actually happens!"

"Anything can happen, Calibro."

"But the timers. Are always correct. Which means that before. It must have made a fucking mistake. Or it wouldn't have fucking corrected itself."

"Motherfucking miracles."

"Stop fucking saying that! What in the hell. Does it mean?"

"Man, I don't know. You just gotta believe that everything will be all up and working out. Soul shit is wicked mystical." 

Caliborn rolled his eyes. Of course there was no way he was getting a straight answer from Gamzee. He would have been tempted to ask Calliope, since she actually studied this shit or whatever, but he couldn't give her the satisfaction of seeking out her help. He didn't need her. Besides, she couldn't help him anymore. She was dead.

That thought made chills run up his spine. Seriously, where the fuck was it even coming from? She was fine. He'd literally just seen her.

He got up from the table himself, leaving Gamzee to sit by himself. The next hour and a half passed without incident, and before long, it was time to head to the mall. Gamzee drove him there in near-silence, as Caliborn deflected each and every one of his older brother's attempts at small-talk. He felt his heart beat faster as they approached the mall, and he was grateful when Gamzee simply stayed put in the car and started watching ICP videos on his phone instead of offering to accompany his brother into the store. He'd already made his point clearly enough. This was just something he had to do on his own.

The mall was quiet, the lights all dim, as Gamestop was the only store even open at this hour. Even Gamestop was all locked up, not letting in the eager gamers until the very stroke of midnight. Caliborn was the first one there, but he wasn't the only one for very long. Less than five minutes after he'd gotten there, some bitch with long, dark hair and red sunglasses appeared from the opposite corridor. He recognized her, of course. He couldn't remember her name, but he knew her as that obnoxious Zero Suit-player who'd almost beaten him at last year's Smash tournament. It really had been a close match, as much as he hated to admit it. She was wearing a Vault Tec t-shirt, which struck Caliborn as especially pathetic. What was the point? No shit, she was a Fallout fan. Everyone who'd actually be at the mall tonight was. It wasn't like it proved anything, or made her special.

He knew that, if given half a chance she'd probably try to make small talk, which was about 100 times worse than even the stupidest small-talk topics that his brother picked out. The handful of times she'd tried to speak to him during the tournament, it had just been cringeworthy and awful. First, there'd been the time when she noticed his leg and tried to tell him that she "knew how it felt" because she didn't have a sense of smell. He'd threatened to shove his cane up her ass right then and there, but honestly, it probably wasn't as bad as the comment she made when she realized that the two of them were going head-to-head in the final round. Some bullshit about "gamer girls" sticking together. Even Calliope, who'd been there to watch, had corrected her that time.

She raised her hand in greeting, and Caliborn quickly narrowed his eyes, lifting his cane slightly and flipping her off with his free hand. She lowered her hand, crossing her arms over her chest and making some comment about "assholes harshing her grinds," which told him that he was probably successful in getting her to leave him alone. Now, he just had to stand here for another fifty-five minutes, in complete bored silence, until they opened the doors and let people in to buy Fallout 4.

It was going to suck, but then, he was capable of nearly infinite patience, when he wanted to be. This just happened to be one of those times. The reward was definitely worth the suffering.

He leaned against the wall, taking just a moment to check on his timer. 

00:30.

Wait a second. That would mean that the dreaded minute that he'd meet his soul mate was at exactly 11:35. That was wrong, too. Hell, that was even before the Gamestop opened. He felt nauseous, as if the ground was spinning under his feet. What if he just went home?

No. He wasn't going to run away. He was going to get Fallout 4 at midnight, dammit, even if it meant running into whatever asshole he was fated to spend the rest of eternity with. He kept his eye on the timer, tapping his fingertips against his palms. He would have grabbed his suspender strap, but he didn't want to let go of his cane, and he didn't want to take his eyes off of the malfunctioning timer for one second.

Less than a full minute later, something very strange happened. The patch of skin surrounding his timer began to glow, emitting a strange, erratic pink light. It was like static interference, and when it cleared, the timer had changed.

00:25.

Five minutes? What the fuck was happening?

The clock on the wall across from the Gamestop read 11:06. It hadn't been five minutes. He wasn't losing track of time. His timer was busted. Maybe it was fate telling him that he didn't have a soul mate after all. Maybe he'd been right all along.

The static returned after another minute. The pink was laced with an orange like bright amber. His racing heart felt as though it had completely stopped for half a second, hanging in his chest like bullet time, before picking up the pace again. It was a beautiful color, and he'd seen it before. Probably in one of those fucked-up dreams, come to think of it. It reminded him of all of his siblings' reassurances. Whatever was going to happen was exactly what was supposed to happen. Whether he wanted it or not, it was an irrefutable fact, and somehow, it was all going to work out for the best. Unlike their words, though, the bright, buzzing orange got through to him. It was comforting, somehow, like something important he'd forgotten.

00:20.

It was only 11:07. This was completely fucking ridiculous. The light was getting brighter, and he could see that Zero Suit bitch starting to notice that something was wrong, lowering her shades and raising an eyebrow. She didn't ask, though. Thank fuck.

00:15.

Yep, he'd confirmed it. His timer was counting down exactly five minutes for every minute that passed. This was stupid. All he could think of was the idiotic Sonic memes that he'd thought of earlier. What if his soul mate really was some asshole with hedgehog hair? He wasn't sure he'd be able to survive that without dying of laughter. And rage. Rage laughter. It was totally a thing. 

00:10.

"Gotta go fast," he whispered under his breath. "Gotta go fast. Gotta go fast. Gotta go fast. Gotta go fast."

"Yo, are you feeling alright over there dude?"

"Leave me. The fuck alone," he growled quickly, turning red. Did that bitch really just catch him repeating a loop in public? Dammit.

"Lemme guess, dude, timer shit? So not rad, am I right?"

"I told you. To shut up. And stop talking!"

"Chill axe," she said, snort-laughing. "That was mad redundant, yo." She gave a half-shrug before going back to texting someone on her phone. He couldn't help but notice that she didn't have a timer either, but some kind of symbol that looked like a spiky black skull engulfed by a teal circle, with weird scythe-like shapes coming off of it. Did she have that last year? He couldn't remember. Maybe he just hadn't noticed.

00:05.

He glanced at the clock. 11:10. At this rate, he'd meet his soul mate in less than a minute. What would he even say when he met them? Was their timer malfunctioning, too? What were they even like?

He wanted to remember. He'd promised himself that he'd remember. Maybe that had been a part of his dreams, too, but it was right there, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

It was a bad time for the obnoxious phantom aches in his right foot, too. He wanted to sit down and take off his leg, maybe rub the nerves on his stump and see if that didn't solve the problem. It hurt, though, and it made him remember how he'd lost his leg. How he'd been standing there over the Briton, when suddenly, his leg was severed with a flash of steel.

Wait, no, that wasn't it. It was something to do with teeth. Teeth, and blood everywhere. The prosthetic, he remembered, had been a pain in the ass to put together, but he'd been walked carefully through every step of the process. Whoever it was that helped him must have really wanted him to win, must have really cared about him.

He shook his head, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. Fuck, it was like he could remember those stupid dreams from the night before better than he could remember his own memories. What the fuck was even wrong with him?

He heard footsteps, fast footsteps, almost impossibly fast, from the direction of one of the corridors of the mall. That Zero Suit bitch, who was standing at an angle to get a better view of the corridor, laughed, screaming something about "scoping the rad speed on this dude," as she fumbled with her phone, probably trying to get her camera to work. 

He ignored the sound, glancing down at his hand. It was down to the seconds now, or possibly fractions of seconds, the numbers winding down faster than he could follow with his eyes. He shot a glance at the clock on the wall. 11:11.

In a sudden blur of motion, he spotted someone running into the junction caddy-corner to Gamestop, arms straight back like that stupid ninja anime meme. A tall guy, lanky, with nearly-white hair that, sure enough, stuck straight up like some kind of bullshit hedgehog. It was definitely more Silver than Sonic, though. Combined with the Kamina shades and the baggy orange hoodie, the guy was a fashion disaster. Caliborn would have laughed out loud, except that the ridiculous weeb quickly turned on a dime, making a bee-line for him.

He stopped running when he was within three feet of Caliborn, barely even looking out of breath. Wordlessly, he re-adjusted the shades on his face, and pointed at Caliborn's hand. 

Caliborn blinked quickly as he glanced at his timer. It was gone. In its place was a Bonding Symbol, like Gamzee's, or that girl's. It was a heart, split into two halves, one half completely filled in, and the other only an outline. Surrounding the heart was a massive red gear. With every beat of Caliborn's own heart, the heart on his hand beat, turning the gear in a particularly satisfying motion.

When he looked back up, the other boy was displaying his own brand-new Bonding Symbol. It was a perfect match.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the boy softly, his tone expectant.

He wouldn't have guessed that he knew the answer, but almost without thinking about it, Caliborn responded. "Dirk."

Dirk held his hand out toward Caliborn. Caliborn recoiled for a moment. Fuck, he hated touching people. Still, he trusted Dirk. Dirk had touched him before. He couldn't remember the exact context, but he knew that it had happened. They'd never met before, but maybe it had happened in another life or something. They were soul mates, after all. Without a word, he took his hand.

"After all of this shit, you have to remember. You do, don't you?"

Caliborn thought for a long moment, but didn't answer.

"Caliborn?"

"Take off your glasses."

Dirk raised an eyebrow, but reached up and removed his triangular shades, revealing eyes that were the same amber color as the static on Caliborn's hand had turned.

It was a good orange. The orange of eyes and static, sure, but mostly, it was the orange of words. Color-coded words helped him concentrate, but too many colors pissed him off. That orange, though, always gave him something to look forward to. It was going to be a good conversation, maybe a fun game. Maybe something that would have been friendship, if the concept of friendship wasn't a disgusting thing to him.

It was Dirk. The Dirk human. Dirk human Strider. Of course he remembered him. How could he ever forget?

"Well?"

"What the fuck. Even happened?" Caliborn furrowed his brows, his fingers tightening on Dirk's hand. It was alright somehow, touching Dirk. It didn't make him anxious. Actually, Dirk's hand was almost as comforting as his own suspenders were. Almost. "Dirk. I have. So many fucking memories. And I can't remember. Which ones are real."

"It's alright, dude. You'll figure it out soon enough."

He glanced down at their entwined hands, where something like a pink electric current made little stinging arcs around their knuckles.

"What are you doing?"

The electricity started to spread up his arm, and up Dirk's as well. It felt like pins-and-needles, like angry white noise static, more annoyance than pain. Still, Dirk's orange eyes were shining brightly, the only part of his face that Caliborn could read at the moment. He looked triumphant, like someone who'd just won the most difficult game of his life.

"We're going home, Caliborn."

For a split-second, he recognized that he'd never get his hands on Fallout 4, and that Gamzee would sit in the parking lot for at least two hours before realizing that something was wrong, and that Calliope would probably be worried when he didn't come home.

But that wasn't home. Not really.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't him.

But Dirk was real, and the pink current that was gradually taking over his entire field of vision, until he couldn't even see Dirk clearly through the light, that was real, too.

Soon, the sting of the lightning and the touch of Dirk's hand were the only sensations that he was conscious of anymore. This was all very familiar, in a way, but maybe that wasn't real, either.

Before he knew it, he passed out.

Everything went dark.

Again.


	12. A Splinter in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Caliborn?"

When Caliborn opened his eyes, everything was dark. He couldn't even feel the ground under his body, even though he definitely felt as though he were lying down. More than anything, he seemed to be floating in the infinite blackness of space, his thoughts confused and his head aching with the pressure of twelve lifetimes full of memories.

He glanced down at his hands, completely unsure of what he would see. He could remember himself in so many ways. Too many Caliborns, too many hands. The sight of scaly green skin comforted him, down to the last bits of his most recent shed still clinging to his long, sharp claws. Those were his hands. Those were really his hands.

This was him, the real him, still wearing the comfortable red Lord-class pajamas that he'd grown so fond of, and of course, his ever-present lime green suspenders. He gave them a few sharp tugs, as if to completely reassure himself that this was real, that wherever the fuck he was, he was really himself.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another shape in the blackness, drifting towards him like something out of a dream. Except, of course, that this was absolutely real. He was sure of it. It had to be.

Without even thinking about it, he knew that it was Dirk. Of course it was. Who else could pull off those ridiculous shades? Besides, he'd seen him countless times before over his monitor. The god-tier outfit was a new development, of course, but he'd seen that, too.

"Dirk? Where the fuck are we?"

Dirk paused, floating in front of him. Seeing him do it, Caliborn struggled to right himself, floating in a more dignified position. The whole time, Dirk watched him carefully.

"Huh. So that's what you really look like. I like it."

Caliborn blinked in mild surprise at the statement. Come to think of it, he didn't think Dirk had ever seen a cherub before. Although, now that he mentioned it, that didn't make any sense. "Didn't you see me? Another me? The one that you did something to. That caused all of the bullshit. That we just fucking did?"

"That hasn't happened yet. It's going to, though."

"If it hasn't fucking happened yet. Then what in the fuck. Is even going on?"

Dirk shrugged. "You're the time guy, aren't you? You tell me."

Caliborn thought for a minute, before shrugging. "I know that we will meet in the future. And that you will tear my soul out of my body. Sealing me in my beautiful floppy pal. Turning me into the yaoiest motherfucker who ever lived."

Dirk raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I saw all of it. On my screen."

"You know what? I should probably be used to you saying shit that doesn't make any sense by now."

"It could make sense. If the happening has not occured. In the current stream of events. That we are experiencing. But if the event has happened. Within the framework of the bullshit story. In which we find ourselves."

"The story?"

"It is all to do with that computer ghost. He haunts me. But I have wrested control. From his filthy and non-helpful hands."

"Is this how you felt for the past eleven days, every time I had to explain to you what was going on?"

Caliborn nodded, flashing him a wide grin with his razor-sharp teeth. "That's right fucker. You are the one. Who will now be confused."

"I mean, I guess it does explain a lot. I know what I did, or I guess, what I'm going to do, just like I know that the Caliborn I'm going to do it to isn't you."

Caliborn's grin slipped off of his face, furrowing his brow ridges. "What?"

"Yeah. Long story, but he's a dead Caliborn."

"So then. The ripped asshole. With the badass flashing seizure eyes. Is not me?"

"That's an even longer story."

Caliborn fell silent. Fuck. If it wasn't bad enough that his head was full of memories that weren't even his, now he had to deal with the fact that his entire plan for life was crumbling right in front of him. Great. "Dirk human. How the fuck. Do you know all of this?"

"Hell if I know, dude. It's probably some kind of Heart shit, though. I can remember a lot of things I shouldn't right now. Like the fact that I wasn't the only one in my session who got some kind of fusion abomination sprite. That didn't happen in my timeline, but apparently it's happened before."

"It did happen. I saw it happening. It was fucking stupid." He thought for a moment, before mumbling. "Or. I think I did. I don't fucking know. I can't remember. All of the things. That I am supposed to remember."

Dirk nodded in agreement. "You can say that again."

"No. I will only say it once. But the thing that I will say again. Is to ask you. 'Where the fuck are we?'"

Dirk looked around, taking in the empty void in which they found themselves. "If I had to guess, I'd say this is probably something like a dream bubble." He pulled himself into a sitting position in the air, and suddenly, it was as in an entire landscape winked into existence. Caliborn suddenly felt something strange, prickly and soft on his back. From the rolling hills, the dark sky, and the standing stones, it looked like the planet that the Jake human spent most of his time on. "Yeah," said Dirk. "This is exactly like a dream bubble."

"Did you make this place happen?"

"I guess."

"Why?"

Caliborn watched as Dirk pressed his fingers into the dirt. "The grass is pretty cool, I guess."

Caliborn watched him carefully, rubbing his own hand over the grass. Grass had seemed so commonplace in so many of the memories he had, but now that he thought about it, he'd never really seen grass in his life. Even in those other timelines, he certainly couldn't remember just taking the time to lie on it, thinking about it. Grass was one of those things that no one actually thought about, but he guessed it was pretty special, all things considered.

"We are still. Outside the story."

"You keep saying things like that."

"It's true. This dream bubble. Is in a different part of Paradox Space. Than our time line."

Dirk just nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"Will we still remember everything? After we are back. In our correct time line?"

Dirk shrugged. "I probably will, or at least some of it. Maybe you will, too, being a Time player and all. I don't really know, though. I'm not sure how that works."

"What even happened? You kept fucking saying. That everything was your fault. But. You never explained how. Or what you did."

"Apparently, using my powers on a master-class Time player wasn't the best idea for the structural integrity of Paradox Space. I ripped out that Caliborn's soul, but it ended up destablizing yours somehow. I don't really know how, and honestly, it sounds like bullshit to me. I guess it was essentially just a bad reaction, like mixing medications that don't have any business being mixed together. I splinter, but I don't break. I guess I ended up splintering you, too."

"But you already said. That you didn't do that yet."

"But I will. Besides, you saw it happening. So even if it hasn't happened yet from either of our perspectives, it has apparently already occurred at some temporal point, if that even means anything."

Caliborn nodded. He wanted to laugh it off, to say that the whole thing was stupid. But the fact that it happened was proof enough that the two of them had managed to figure it out. Besides, that was essentially what he'd just said a few moments ago, only worded considerably better.

"How did you know. That it happened?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "It's funny. I really hadn't been thinking about you that much at all. Well, okay, that's not exactly true. Sometimes I'd find myself remembering some conversation we had, and I almost told my alternate teen bro about you. But somehow, when you got ripped out of the timeline, it's like I felt it, I guess. I know that sounds like some corny-ass anime shit, but it's the truth."

At the mention of his favorite art form, Caliborn rolled up into a sitting position, crossing his organic leg over his golden one. "Yes. I have studied the animes. And am in fact. Becoming a great man gaka. And it is all because of you."

Dirk raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You were right. My first attempt at art. Was little more than the scribblings of an amateur. But I have worked hard. To hone my craft. And ignore the haters. To get into the zone. And master the animes."

"Holy shit, dude, that sounds amazing." Caliborn couldn't quite tell if Dirk was being sarcastic or not, but something told him that he wasn't, at least, not completely.

"I know. I am."

Dirk smirked at his reaction, but didn't respond immediately. Caliborn watched him carefully, his hands moving to his suspender straps when, after a long silence, Dirk slid just slightly closer to him on the grass.

"You know, Caliborn," he said softly, "I meant every word I said, in every single timeline. Well, I guess except for some of the shit that I said when I was kidding, but I figure you probably know me well enough to tell the difference by now."

Caliborn shrugged at that. He wasn't sure it was possible to know someone like Dirk well enough to tell when he was kidding and when he was being serious. Still, he had a feeling that he knew what Dirk meant.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I wasn't just making desperate plays to get you to remember. When I said that you were important to me, and that I should have appreciated you more as a friend, or I guess, whatever you were to me, I meant every single word of that."

"I still don't get. Why the fuck you thought. That we were friends."

"Because we were, man. Look, I get that things are different for cherubs, since you're not really supposed to have interpersonal relationships or whatever, but when you and your sister decided to contact a bunch of humans, you pretty much gave up whatever cold, aloof alien cred you may have had. For better or worse, you're stuck with us, Caliborn. You're stuck with me, anyway."

"Is the contract. Still in effect?"

Dirk didn't say anything for a long moment. "I don't know. I'm a Heart player, but I'm not really sure that that kind of thing is a real, actual thing in our timeline."

"Oh."

After a long silence, Dirk cleared his throat, quietly asking. "Would you want it to be? I mean, you know, if you had the choice."

"Would I want you. To be my soul mate. If that were a real thing? Is that what you are asking me?"

Dirk just shrugged, adding a small nod after a pause.

"The whole concept. Is fucking bullshit. And I remember that I thought that. Even in that timeline. With those memories. But. With as much as we talk. And the way that you listen to me. And the shit that you have done for me. Even if I hate you. I hate you less. Than I hate everyone else. So." Caliborn shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. That would be alright. If it was a thing."

"Do you hate me, Caliborn?"

Caliborn seriously considered the question. Hate was such an easy thing to feel, his go-to opinion on pretty much everyone. Maybe it wasn't a strong, passionate hatred. Mostly, he just wouldn't have minded if basically everyone fucked off forever. On paper, at least, that seemed appealing to him. But Dirk... Well, five months had been a very long time not to talk to Dirk, even if he had perfectly good reasons for keeping his distance. "Yes. And also. No."

"What?"

"You annoy me. With saying things all of the time. That I don't fucking know what they mean. And talking about disgusting shit. Like human boners. And sometimes I think. That your aesthetic is fucking terrible. And your taste in yaoi. Is probably even worse." He shrugged, before adding, "But also. You are ambitious. And strong. And clever. And those are things that I admire. And I guess I do not want you. To die painfully. And I enjoy our games. And our conversations. And I want to be with you."

"You want to... be with me?"

"Yes. Like we are doing right now. Existing in the same temporal and spatial location. Relative to one another. If I wanted to. And if it wasn't lascivious and awful. I would maybe." He could feel his cheeks burning as he spoke, his forked tongue almost tripping over the words. "Hold your hand?"

"You've touched my hand before, Caliborn."

"Yes," he said quickly, practically stammering, "But I was busy being a different Caliborn. With different memories. Who didn't fucking know. Just how gross it was."

"Was it gross when you did it before?"

"Well. I guess not."

"Look, Caliborn, I'm not going to judge you. If you're not comfortable holding hands with me, then that's fine. I'm not going to push the issue. But if you do want to hold my hand, then that's also fine. Even if performing such a lewd act really is all kinds of messed up, it won't change how I see you."

"How do you see me?"

"I already told you. Remember?"

Caliborn just nodded. He'd explained time and time again to different Caliborns, from the powerful demon to the weak, pathetic lime-blooded cherub that he'd been. Dirk wasn't being ironic at all. He liked him. 

Without another word, he slid his hand through the grass, touching one claw gently to Dirk's hand. His breath caught in his throat as he threaded his fingers through Dirk's, turning his hand over and pressing their palms together.

"See? This isn't so bad, is it?"

Caliborn made a face, but didn't respond. He wasn't about to admit that he'd been wrong, and anyway, he wasn't really all that wrong at all. This was downright scandalous. It just so happened that he liked it.

"When we are back. Where we are supposed to be. You will need to stop saying my name."

"Why?"

"You aren't supposed to know it. Dumbass. At least. That is what I believe." He'd been wrong before, of course, but given the information that he had to work with, it was a reasonable assumption.

"I'm still really glad you told me, Caliborn."

"It does feel good. To hear you say it," Caliborn admitted, gently squeezing Dirk's hand. "And. I will miss this. When it is over."

"Over?"

"When you and I. Are back in our respective squares. Preparing to make our next moves. Whatever the fuck. Those even will be."

Dirk just nodded, squeezing Caliborn's hand back. It felt nice. "Just don't be a stranger, alright? You have my Pesterchum info. Even if I'm wrong, and we forget everything that happened, I don't want to lose you again."

"Dirk," said Caliborn, grinning mischievously.

"Yeah?"

"You have to remember." Caliborn threw back his head, practically unhingeing his jaw as he cackled. "It is hilarious. And ironic. Because that was the thing. That always you would say. At the end of the day. To me."

Dirk just shook his head slowly, the smirk on his lips making him a little easier to read than usual. "I'm pretty sure that that's not exactly 'irony,' but hey, keep trying. Maybe you'll use the word correctly someday."

"Fuck you," growled Caliborn, no actual malice in his tone.

"Hey, now, that's pretty big talk coming from the guy who was literally nervous about holding my hand less than five minutes ago."

Caliborn narrowed his eyes, pulling his claw out of Dirk's grip. "That is not what I meant. And you know it."

"Alright, you're right, just take it easy, Caliborn," said Dirk, his voice soft and soothing. "I'm sorry. You're just too easy sometimes. How am I supposed to resist making jokes when you say things like that?"

Caliborn just shrugged, but reached for Dirk's hand again. It was barely even a conscious decision. It was almost as if they were magnetized, coming together on their own.

"We probably shouldn't stay here for too long, though. As much as I'd love to." Dirk spoke gently, his fingers rubbing softly at the scales on Caliborn's hand.

"Why not?"

"I came all this way to bring you home, not to sit in some dream bubble in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Paradox Space."

"I will see you again." Caliborn's tone was steady, assured. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a goal, or a dream. It was a resolution. When Caliborn wanted something, he wasn't about to stop until he got it. If seeing Dirk Strider again was going to be one of those things, then so be it.

"Absolutely." Dirk squeezed his hand one more time, before leaning in close to his face. "Hey, can I just do one thing before we wake up? I mean, I guess we have to wake up, since this is probably a dream bubble or something."

"That depends. On what the fuck it is. That you want to do." Caliborn watched him carefully, his pulse speeding up. It was weird having him so close. It was a good weird, but it was still weird.

"Just this." Dirk leaned in even closer, and before Caliborn really even knew what was happening, he could feel Dirk's weird, fleshy human lips on his temple. They were soft.

Caliborn blinked in surprise, not entirely certain how to react. His free hand flew to his suspender strap, tugging gently at it. "Did you just give me. One of your human kisses?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

Caliborn nodded slowly. "It was." He could feel his cheeks burning, his claws tapping against the thick fabric of his suspender strap. "Good."

"I'm glad. Let's call that incentive, then, alright?"

"Incentive?"

"When you see me in our real timeline, there'll be plenty more where that came from." Dirk pushed his shades just far down enough on his weird human nose so that Caliborn could see those beautiful eyes of his. As weird as it was, he thought he understood what Dirk meant. This was a game now, in a way. What wasn't with them?

"I think that you. Are in human love with me."

"Weirder things have happened," said Dirk with a shrug. "Anyway, the sooner we wake up, the sooner we'll have our own memories sorted out. We can get back to whatever the fuck we were doing before, and the sooner we do that, the sooner we can actually talk about shit like this, alright?"

Caliborn nodded. It was a fair point. What the fuck even was "human love?" It would be easier to figure out how he felt if he could just get eleven extra lifetimes of preconcieved notions out of his head. Having so many memories of actually being human was doing absolutely nothing for his sense of self, and he had a feeling that that was the worst possible state to be in when evaluating how he really felt about something so important.

"Are you ready?"

Caliborn just squeezed Dirk's hand by way of answer.

"Later. And this time, when I say 'later,' I don't mean 'ignore me for five months until I have to spend a week and a half living a whole series of increasingly ridiculous lives to save your ass.' I seriously just mean 'later.'" Dirk shot him one last smirk, squeezing his hand tenderly, before suddenly winking out of existence, as if he'd simply imploded.

Caliborn stared at the spot where he'd been. What an asshole. Dirk sort of always had been. If he was being completely honest, though, he wouldn't have it any other way. More than anything, Caliborn was glad that he was completely alone on this fake LOMAX. That way, no one could see him grinning and blushing like some kind of lovestruck yaoi idiot.

Once he'd finally managed to get his dumb emotions under control, Caliborn woke up.


	13. Homestuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How did I tell them?" _Good question._

Caliborn didn't open his eyes immediately upon waking up. He felt the hard floor of the station that he'd made his base of operations under his back, and in that moment, he missed the dream bubble grass more than he could have possibly said. He stretched his muscles, groaning slightly. More than anything else, that was the weirdest thing about sleep. He could never have anticipated how stiff his muscles would get when they weren't being exercised for him the entire time he was asleep. Just one of the very, very few downsides to being so completely and utterly alone.

Not that he was actually alone. He had a small army of beautiful puppet people, as well as Honk Friend and his rabbit pal, not to mention his juju. Still, there was a quiet to his wholeness that was both blissful and slightly melancholy, although the less said about that the better. 

Caliborn had no regrets, not about anything. He'd only ever done what he had to do to survive, and besides, he was glad to be rid of the one major obstacle that had always held him back. No matter what the hazy memories from his dreams told him, any possibility of having what humans would have considered a "sibling relationship" had always been completely and utterly out of their reach. They were cherubs. One of them was always destined to be nothing more than a sacrificial lamb, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be him. Maybe in another life, it could have been different, but that wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was this timeline, this reality, this Caliborn.

He opened his eyes, sitting up and cracking all of his joints with loud, satisfying clicks. He was alone. He wasn't entirely certain where Honk Friend had gone to, or the rest of his men for that matter, but he was sure that they were around somewhere. Probably scavenging for resources or something outside. All over the floor, he saw his tiny little clay people, molded as carefully as he could manage with his limited supplies. His hand still hurt a bit from that fight he'd had with that asshole in blue, but there was no way he'd been about to let that stop him from creating his brilliant, crowd-funded masterpiece.

Still, when he saw his little clay doppleganger, he frowned, picking it up gently and tapping at its differently-colored eyes for a moment. There was something unspeakably sad, horribly disappointing about the tiny Caliborn. 

Shit, that was right.

It wasn't him. 

The awesome Caliborn that he'd seen on the screen had been a different Caliborn from a different timeline. All of the things he'd come to believe about his future, all of his aspirations of becoming the biggest, baddest motherfucker to ever grace Paradox Space, they were nothing more than assumptions he'd made based on what was, in his defense, pretty solid-looking evidence. Everything was gone.

He squeezed the tiny clay Caliborn tightly, his soft body bulging and the little clay head dropping to the floor with a small plopping sound. No. He wasn't going to just sit there and weep his gentle poet's tears. Sure, he was a sensitive art man and all that nonsense, but that didn't mean that he was going to give up that easily. In the face of his dreams being crushed, all he needed was a new dream, a new end goal.

Of course, coming up with that was the easiest thing of all. His art skills had improved immensely since he'd started, but there was nowhere to go but up. He could always continue to improve. After all, just being better than everyone else wasn't even enough. He could become even better than that, and make lesser artists cry just by glancing at his works. Oh, yes, that would be satisfying.

He already had plans, of course. He was off to fight Yolobroth, or Yogurtboner, or whatever the fuck that thing was called. He'd still do it, because he'd already decided to, even if he knew that it wouldn't end exactly how he'd hoped. It didn't matter. After he was done, and had secured his position as still one of the toughest players that the game had ever seen, he could always just come back here and get right back to work. His loyal fans on the internet would probably be glad when he returned, especially after saying that he was going away forever.

Then what?

He dropped the ruined clay Caliborn, which rolled across the floor and came to a silent stop as it bumped against one of the other clay people, one with a lovely bright pink body. Caliborn watched the movement carefully, hooking his claws under his suspender straps and giving them a gentle tug. 

He remembered the dreams he'd had, and how real they'd felt. If he was really going to re-work his entire life's plan, then he'd have to also acknowledge that his dreams were absolutely real. That was where he'd gotten his informtation from, after all.

If his dreams were real, and of course they were, then he had a resolution to fulfill, a promise to keep. He would see Dirk Strider again, in waking life, and figure out exactly how he felt about him.

He picked up the tiny clay Dirk, holding it very carefully in his powerful claws. In hindsight, maybe this Dirk wasn't quite as well-crafted as he'd thought. It looked more like a little chess pawn than like Dirk, with his distinctive hair and anime shades. Come to think of it, he couldn't help but wonder if Dirk's shitty fashion sense had, to some extent, inspired some of the art style of Homosuck. Dirk's aesthetic had been formative, in a sense. Inspiring. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but somehow, Caliborn could just never manage to get Dirk Strider out of his head.

The longer he looked at the clay Dirk, the more dissatisfied he became with him. He was all wrong. This wasn't the artistic representation that Dirk deserved. No, he deserved much better. Maybe he'd try his hand at more traditional anime rendering again. Perhaps it wasn't as groundbreaking as his foray into handcrafted (and fairly tedious) stop-motion, but somehow, it seemed appropriate. He could manage more detail that way.

He picked himself off of the floor, trying not to pay too much attention to his ruined, shredded cape. That was just another thing that he could thank the blue asshole for.

As he took his place in front of his massive screen, taking his computer pencil in his hand, he heard the tiniest little footsteps entering the room from a side-door. He didn't even need to look up to know that it was his rabbit pal for life, his adorable little robotic companion. He'd seen him in his prime on his screens, of course, but he was really just as cute the way he looked now. He could even put up with the texture of rust against his scales, if it meant giving small pats to the metal rabbit.

"You are just in time," he announced theatrically, as he booted up his drawing program. "For I am about to unleash art. Onto my canvas."

The rabbit stopped in its tracks, turning its head toward Caliborn before tottering towards him on its little legs. Caliborn nodded approvingly as he watched him. He really was a well-crafted bit of machinery, but then, he expected nothing less. After all, Dirk had also designed his leg, and walked him through the process of building it. Even if the rabbit was originally built as a present for the Jane human, it somehow felt appropriate that he'd ended up here. After all, Dirk's juju was here, too.

Caliborn held his computer pencil just a bit tighter, ignoring the twinge of pain in his fingers. If it wasn't for the fact that bullshit like that didn't happen in this reality, he may have been inclined to speculate that Dirk really had been his soul mate all along, contract or no contract.

The rabbit parked himself right by Caliborn's feet, watching the still-blank canvas with those unmistakeably Dirk-esque shades.

Caliborn thought for a moment, tugging a suspender strap with one hand and tapping the computer pencil against his tablet with the other. Even master artists sometimes struggled with finding the right inspiration. Even as full of memories and dreams of Dirk as he was, even as surrounded by reminders of Dirk as he was, he couldn't decide just how to best depict him.

Suddenly, it hit him. Dirk was the entire reason that he'd taken up art in the first place. Dirk had inspired him, and he'd first put pen to computer to thank him for everything that he'd done for him. Dirk had sneered at that birthday present, but he hadn't given up. He knew that he could improve, and hone his skills. He knew that, someday, he could impress Dirk. 

If Caliborn's dreams were true, and he had to believe that they were, then Dirk had done even more for him now. Dirk had looked for him, had tried to save him time and time again. He'd chased him throughout Paradox Space, never giving up in his quest to bring him home. That perseverence, that determination, Caliborn couldn't help but be impressed by it. They were some of the nearest virtues to his heart, and he knew that Dirk felt the same way about him. That mutual admiration and respect was why, even when Caliborn refused to use the word "friends," they always had been, he guessed. Hindsight really was 20/20.

It was fitting, then, to draw his inspiration from the past.

He shook off any reluctance he may have had to look at his old work, and quickly opened up the file he had labelled "DIRKTHISISuS.gif." He had to admit, it really was utter shit. Honestly, he could barely tell what some of it was even supposed to be anymore. What the fuck even were those attempts at lines? It was oddly nostalgic, in a way, but he also couldn't keep from cringing. Not to mention the fact that he'd also attempted to depict the Roxy and Jane humans engaging in "the yuris," which were much like "the yaois," but maybe not quite as good. What were they even doing there? They had almost no relation to the narrative of the main drawing. It was just such a pointless creative decision. He almost couldn't remember a time before he'd discovered yaoi. Had he really ever been that unwilling to depicting two strong alpha males enjoying some filthy, filthy affection without a trusty bitch parade nearby? Damn, he really had come a long way as an artist.

He closed out the old drawing, but now that it was fresh in his memory, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He could recreate it, make it completely anew with his improved repertoire of skills. This time, it would be recognizable. It would truly be a masterpiece, he was sure of it.

Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't have other inspirations to work with. After all, he'd rendered Dirk's alternate teen bro, the Alpha Male, and his paramour Krabkrab in such exquisite detail that he knew he would be able to make his newest piece just as steamy and alluring, if not more so. Not only that, but he wasn't simply working from images on a screen this time. He'd seen Dirk in person. He'd held his hand. Dirk had even given him a human kiss.

"Are you ready. My trusty rabbit pal. To see the artistic magic occur. Before your very eyes?"

The rabbit simply tilted its head to the side, as a sort of curious, noncommital response. Eh, good enough. Caliborn knew he was probably excited somewhere deep down in his little robo-plushie heart. Probably.

He made his first few lines, sure and steady, starting with Dirk's face and his hair. He'd be facing straight ahead, since then it would be easier to see the details of his face. He hesitated for a moment before drawing an eye. This was his drawing after all, and as distinctive as Dirk's shades were, he looked incredible without them. Besides, once he added the spiky peaks of his hair, he wouldn't need the shades anymore to make it obvious who he was drawing. The triangles were absolutely not invited to this party, he decided.

He frowned when he finished drawing both of Dirk's eyes, coloring them in with orange. It didn't quite look as good as he'd wanted it to. Of course, the drawing would still be a masterpiece, but he wasn't having an easy time actually capturing just how good Dirk looked.

Now that he really thought about it, though, he guessed that it didn't matter all that much. He still looked like Dirk. Besides, he'd seen Dirk again and again and again, and he could remember so many different Dirks, of all different sizes and shapes and colors, with different voices and different clothing and different ages and different lives. Hell, he distinctly remembered that one Dirk was a horse or something. Maybe this Dirk could look like a different Dirk, too. It wouldn't matter. Inside, they were all the same Dirk. They were all _his_ Dirk.

As he drew Dirk's body, starting with the neck and working his way down, he couldn't help but wonder about all of the Dirks and Caliborns in all of the other timelines. What were they doing right now? Or, he supposed, the "now" relative to the "now" here, if that was even a reasonable construct to consider. As faraway and half-remembered as all of the timelines were, he spared some thoughts for them. Even if they didn't matter, even if they were nothing more but puppets for the adventure that he'd had with his Dirk, they were still splinters of them.

More than likely, the snake Caliborn lived out the rest of his life, comfortable in a nice, warm tank, and watched over by his Dirk. The Dirk and Caliborn who were soul mates probably ended up happy eventually, and maybe the dragon Caliborn and his half-horse Dirk would, too. Maybe the heroic Dirk and his archnemesis Caliborn would end up united against a larger threat, or maybe they really would fight to the death someday in some destined encounter. Maybe the demon Caliborn would take pity on the soulless Dirk and his empty contract, and some understanding would pass between them. Maybe that one Caliborn decided to go to the coffee shop again, after all, and the Dirk and Caliborn who went to school together would become friends. Maybe the Baron Caliborn actually married his Dirk without murdering him, and the two of them lived in reasonable happiness from then on. Maybe the Dirk and Caliborn who'd killed the Empress together met again in the arena, or maybe they escaped together somehow. Maybe the Dirk and Caliborn who fought zombies together eventually fell in human love on their adventures. Maybe the lime-blooded Caliborn finally worked up the courage to tell Dirk Lalonde that he loved him, that he'd always loved him, that he was the one who'd made him realize that cherubs were capable of love, after all.

Caliborn stopped drawing for a moment, furrowing his brows. Was he capable of love? It seemed stupid, a pointless question. He was capable of feeling many things, he knew it to be true. Still, "love" as he'd come to imagine the word, was such a very human concept. For cherubs, who weren't meant to have interpersonal relationships at all, it was a meaningless idea. But Dirk had been right. When he'd been exposed to a culture so vastly different from his own, he was bound to pick up conceptions of emotions that were foreign to his own ideals. Maybe all cherubs were capable of love, even if they had no idea what the hell "love" even was. Most just didn't get the chance to feel it. It was a rare opportunity, and if he took it, then maybe that wasn't a failing on his part, so much as it was just another thing to mark him as a truly superior cherub. Maybe he was just justifying shit to himself that, justification or not, he felt regardless.

Maybe he did love Dirk, after all.

It wasn't "human love," because he wasn't a human. It wasn't "cherub love," because there wasn't really any such thing. Maybe it was just "love," and maybe that was enough.

He should have been disgusted at the revelation. He _would_ have been disgusted at the revelation, except that, after everything he'd seen and done and been, it almost seemed to be the least strange thing of all.

Of course, he still maintained that he also hated him just a little bit. In his personal opinion, the two things didn't have to be mutually exclusive. Why should they be? As long as he was identifying his feelings, he decided that he had the right to make up his own rules as he went along. His feelings were complicated and multi-layered, and sorting through them would have been nearly impossible if he tried to set himself to anyone else's standards. Why shouldn't he feel both love and hate for Dirk at the same time? If that was what he felt, then he had every intention of defining it for himself. He wanted to be with that asshole, and talk to him about everything and nothing, and share all that he was and all that he could be with him, and maybe show him some disgusting affection, and maybe challenge him to fights once in a while, and that was all there was to it.

He finished off drawing Dirk, nodding in approval. It was a perfectly good Dirk, and a worthy depiction. Certainly better than the small chess man. There was only one thing missing, and he quickly corrected that by dropping two large, round orange circles on Dirk's cheeks. He was perfectly aware that Dirk didn't literally have orange blood, but that was what artistic license was for. Every genius had his own unique and special art style, and Caliborn was no different. Besides, humans did look damn good when depicted with facial markings in their appropriate colors. It was aesthetically pleasing, even if it wasn't anatomically accurate.

Now, there was only one more thing to do. He drew himself, as he really was. Despite all of the Caliborns he'd been, he would always be his own favorite Caliborn. Besides, even Dirk said that he liked him as he really looked. He drew himself standing beside Dirk, his face in profile, returning the kiss to his temple that Dirk had given him in their dream. 

Once he was satisfied, he saved his drawing under the name "DIRKTHISISUSAGAIN.gif," uploading it to his DeviantArt account with no great fanfare or description.

Correction. _Now_ , there was only one more thing to do.

He opened Pesterchum and, for the first time in months, he selected timaeusTestified from his short list of contacts. Dirk didn't appear to be online, and it was entirely possible that he was too busy to respond. It didn't matter, though. He could take all the time he needed. Hell, he could take all the time he _wanted_ , it didn't matter to Caliborn. After all, what was time to him? He'd give him all of his time, and he'd give him all of his heart. The two things seemed to go hand-in-hand, now.

He just sent him the link, and a single message:

"YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER."

And, at least for now, that was the only thing that needed to be said.


End file.
